LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

^rTf^n/ 

Shelf.-:.-.^: 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



SUNSHINE IN LIFE 



POEMS 



THE KING'S DAUGHTERS 



SELECTED AND ARRANGED BY >^ 

FLORENCE POHLMAN LEE 

WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 

MARGARET BOTTOME 

President of The Order of The King's Daughters 



" Poems are the family jewels of the language." — 

Washington Irving. 



G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

NEW YORK LONDON 

27 WEST TWENTY-THIRD ST. 27 KING WILLIAM ST., STRAND 

ftjjt l&tmlurbnclur |)rrss 
1801 







Copyrighted, 1891 

BY 

FLORENCE POHLMAN LEE 



^dj 



Ube Iknfcftcrbocfecr press, mew lijorfe 

Electrotyped, Printed, and Bound by 
G. P. Putnam's Sons 



INTRODUCTION. 

In common with the majority of people, I pre- 
sume, I have always had pleasure in special 
selections of poems and hymns. Poetry and 
music are so near akin that the one naturally 
awakens the other, and stirs the emotions to their 
highest conditions. A sentiment expressed in 
poetic phrase fixes itself on the memory, and 
often effects an impression which ordinary lan- 
guage could not. In the words of the quaint 
George Herbert, 

" A verse may catch Mm who a sermon flies, 
And turn delight into a sacrifice." 

So to make a good selection of poems is of better 
service often than to publish a volume of sermons. 
And in this " Our Sister " is laying the Order of 
The King's Daughters under obligation by her 
excellent work, under its very pleasing title, ' ' Sun- 
shine in Life. ' ' One of the questions often asked 
of us is, how to make the meeting of the Circles 
interesting and profitable ; and in part this book 
will answer that purpose. As by our Constitu- 
tion, the first, and chief thing, emphasized as the 
duty of every member of the Order is, ' ' the deep- 



■ffntroDuction 



ening of spiritual life," the use of this beautiful 
souvenir will suggest topics of conversation, and 
fittingly assist in arrangement and expression of 
thought for the hour, as well as furnishing the 
mind with such inspirations of faith and action as 
will better qualify the reader to meet the cares of 
every-day life. And we confidently commend this 
volume to all the members of the Order, as a con- 
stant companion for daily thought and suggestion 
while bespeaking for it equally the heartiest wel- 
come on every Christian table. 





PREFACE. 

The King's Daughters have always been in 
mind when selecting these poems. May those 
who have "the beauty of holiness," grow in it, 
and all who read the book, cry with the Psalmist, 
' ' Let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon 
us." 

Hearty thanks are given to the many friends 
who have so kindly given me permission to use 
their poems. The poems of Mr. Longfellow, Mr. 
Whittier, Mr. Lowell, and many others, are used 
by permission of, and arrangement with, Messrs. 
Houghton, Mifflin, & Co., to whom thanks are 
due ; and also to Messrs. Charles Scribner's Sons, 
for the poems of Dr. Holland ; to the Cassell Pub- 
lishing Company, for the selection taken from 
the Life of John Boyle O'Reilly, with Complete 
Poems, and to Messrs. Roberts Brothers for the 
poems of Mrs. Helen Hunt Jackson. In a few 
cases poems have been used without authoriza- 
tion, the compiler having been unable to obtain 
the address of the authors, or those owning their 
copyright. 

' ' In His Name, ' ' 

Florence; p. Lee. 



CONTENTS. 





i 


'AGE 


The Universal Prayer. 


. Alexander Pope 


i 


An Ode 


. Joseph Addison 


3 


Majesty of God. 


Thomas Sternhold 


5 


To a Nightingale. . 


William Drummond 


5 


For One That Hears Himself 






Much Praised. . 


. George Wither 


6 


Lemuel's Song. 


. George Wither 


7 


From " Delight in God Only." 


. Francis Quarles 


9 


A Summer's Day. . 


Alexander Hume 


ii 


On His Blindness. . 


John Milton 


12 


Hail, Holy Tight ! . 


John Milton 


13 


Duty. . . . 


Robert Teighton 


14 


The Rainbow. 


Henry Vaughan 


15 






16 




Thomas Bllwood 


i7 


Search after God. . 


Thomas Heywood 


18 


Ye Golden Damps of Heaven, 






Farewell! .... 


Philip Doddridge 


22 


" Dum Vivimus Vivamus." . 


Philip Doddridge 


22 


My Consecration. . 


. Charles Wesley 


23 


For the Youngest. . 


. Charles Wesley 


23 


Flegy Written in a Country 






Churchyard. 


Thomas Gray 


26 


From "The Deserted Village." 


Oliver Goldsmith 


31 


Tight Shining Out of Darkness 


William Cowper 


34 


Winter 


William Cowper 


35 



viii Contents 








PAGE 


The Soul That Loves God 






Finds Him Everywhere. 


. Madame Guyon 




trans. William Cowper 


36 


The Sabbath of the Soul. 


Anna L. Barbauld 


38 


Life 


Anna L. Barbauld 


38 


The Death of the Virtuous. 


Anna L. Barbauld 


39 


To the Cuckoo. 


John Logan 


40 


The Babe. . . \ . 


Sir William Jones 


4i 


The Little Black Boy. . 


. William Blake 


41 


Whilst Thee I Seek. 


Helen M. Williams 


43 


The Daffodils. 


William Wordsworth 


44 


We Are Seven. 


William Wordsworth 


45 


To the River Duddon. 


William Wordsworth 


47 


Rebecca's Hymn. . 


Sir Walter Scott 


48 


From "The Lady of the Lake. 


Sir Walter Scott 


49 


" Forever with the Lord ! " 


James Montgomery 


52 


The Stranger and His Friend. 


James Montgomery 


54 


Songs of Praise the Angels 






Sang. .... 


James Montgomery 


56 


From "Hymn before Sunrise 






in the Vale of Chamouni." 


Samuel T. Coleridge 


57 


Answer to a Child's Question. 


Samuel T. Coleridge 


59 



Thou Art, O God ! . . . . Thomas Moore 59 
O Thou Who Dry'st the 

Mourner's Tear ! Thomas Moore 60 

Alas ! How Light a Cause may 

Move. ..... Thomas Moore 61 

Hymn to the Flowers. . . . Horace Smith 63 

There Be Those. .... Bernard Barton 66 

An Angel in the House. . . Leigh Hunt 67 

Abou Ben Adhem and the 

Angel Leigh Hunt 67 

The Star of Bethlehem. . . Henry K. White 68 

To an Barly Primrose. . . Henry K. White 69 

The Evening Cloud. . . . John Wilson 70 



Contents 



The Mariner's Hymn. 

The Pearl-Wearer. . 

The Lake of Geneva. 

From "Sunday Evening, 

O, Why should the Spirit of 

Mortal Be Proud ? . 
"They 're Dear Fish to me.' 
Evening. 
Fragment. 
Hymn. 

Long Did I Toil. 
Abide with Me. 
From " Evening Hymn of the 

Alpine Shepherds." 
Kindred Hearts. 
The Hour of Prayer. 



PAGE 

Caroline A. B. Southey 71 

Bryan W. Procter 72 

Lord Byron 74 

Charlotte Elliott 75 



Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers. Felicia D. Hemans 



To-Day. .... 
Nature's Delights. . 
The Word of God. . 

Prayer 

Ruth 

The Lady's Dream. 
The Use of Flowers. 
The Pillar of the Cloud. 
O Happy House ! . 

tran 
Father, Thy Will be Done 
The Kingdom of God. 
Different Minds. 
The Effects of Prayer. 
Couplets. 
Evening Song. 
The Master's Touch. 



. William Knox 

. Unknown 

John Keble 

John Keble 

Sir John Bowring 

. Henry F. Lyte 

. Henry F. Lyte 



William Beattie 
Felicia D. Hemans 
Felicia D. Hemans 



. Thomas Carlyle 
. John Keats 
Hartley Coleridge 
Hartley Coleridge 
Thomas Hood 
Thomas Hood 
Mary Howitt 
John H. Newman 
Karl J. P. Spitta 
s. Mrs. Eric Findlater 
Sarah F. Adams 
Richard C. Trench 
Richard C. Trench 
Richard C. Trench 
Richard C. Trench 
. Thomas Miller 
. Horatius Bonar 



He Liveth Long Who Liveth Well. Horatius Bonar 



76 

79 
82 

84 
84 
85 
87 

89 
90 

9f 
92 

94 
95 
96 
96 

97 

98 

102 

103 

104 
106 
107 
108 
109 
109 
no 
in 
112 



x Contents 








PAGE 


The New Song. 


. Horatius Bonar 


"3 


Be True 


. Horatius Bonar 


114 


The Beacon-Light. . 


Julia Pardoe 


114 


From "In Memoriam." 


Alfred Tennyson 


Il6 


The Foolish Virgins. 


Alfred Tennyson 


Il8 


Safe to the Land. 


Henry Alford 


119 


Work and Contemplation. Elizabeth B. Browning 


I20 


Cheerfulness Taught by Rea- 






son Elizabeth B. Browning 


121 


From " My Doves. " . Elizabeth B. Browning 


121 


Fragment — Song. . 


Robert Browning 


122 


Little at First, but Great at 






Last. .... 


Charles Mackay 


122 


I Lay in Sorrow, Deep Dis- 






tressed. . 


Charles Mackay 


124 


The Dark Angel. 


Aubrey T. De Vere 


125 


Come to Jesus. 


Frederic W. Faber 


125 


The Will of God. . 


Frederic W. Faber 


128 


Invitation to the Mission. 


Frederic W. Faber 


I30 


Perfection. .... 


Frederic W. Faber 


132 


The Starry Skies. . 


Frederic W. Faber 


133 


Where Lies the Land ? . 


Arthur H. Clough 


137 


A Farewell. 


Charles Kingsley 


138 


Who shall Roll Away the 






Stone? 


G. Washington Moon 


138 


My Times Are in Thy Hand. . 


Anna L- Waring 


140 


Self-Dependence. 


Matthew Arnold 


142 


A Legend of Bregenz. 


Adelaide A. Procter 


143 


Now. 


Adelaide A. Procter 


I50 


The Old Year's Blessing. 


Adelaide A. Procter 


151 


Spring 


Adelaide A. Procter 


153 


Evening Hymn. 


Adelaide A. Procter 


156 


Per Pacem ad Lucem. 


Adelaide A. Procter 


157 


The Cruse that Faileth Not. . 


Elizabeth R. Charles 


158 


The Burial of Moses. 


Cecil F. Alexander 


l6o 



Contents 







PAGE 


April 


Sir Edwin Arnold 


163 


The Olive-Tree. 


S. Baring-Gould 


I64 


Child's Evening Hymn . 


S. Baring-Gould 


166 


Life Mosaic. . 


. Frances R. Havergal 


l67 


Jesus Only. 


. Frances R. Havergal 


168 


Ascension Song. 


. Frances R. Havergal 


168 


Whose I Am. . 


. Frances R. Havergal 


I70 


Consecration Hymn. 


. Frances R. Havergal 


I70 


Another Year. 


. Frances R. Havergal 


172 


The Lesson of the Water-Mill. . Sarah Doudney 


173 


The Gift 


Augusta Webster 


175 


The Chimes of England. 


. Arthur C. Coxe 


176 


The Fall of Niagara. 


. John G. C. Brainard 


178 


Epithalamium. 


. John G. C. Brainard 


179 


A Forest Hymn. 


. William C. Bryant 


l80 


The Yellow Violet. . 


. William C. Bryant 


I84 


To a Waterfowl. 


William C. Bryant 


186 


March 


. William C. Bryant 


I8 7 


The Constellations. 


. William C. Bryant 


188 


Life 


. Francis S. Key 


191 


A Little Bird I Am. 


. Madame Guyon 






trans. Thos. C. Upham 


192 


Love and Friendship. 


William Leggett 


193 


Sabbath Evening. . 


George D. Prentice 


194 


A Name in the Sand. 


George D. Prentice 


I96 


A Still Day in Autumn. . 


. Sarah H. Whitman 


197 


The Soul's Prophecy. 


Ralph W. Emerson 


I98 


The Rhodora. . 


. Ralph W. Emerson 


199 


Pilgrim Song. . 


George Lunt 


200 


Serve God and Be Cheerful. 


. William Newell 


20I 


The First Day of Spring. 


William G. Simms 


202 


Santa Filomena. 


Henry W. Longfellow 


203 


Memories. 


Henry W. Longfellow 


205 


From "The New England 




Tragedies." 


Henry W. Longfellow 


206 



Contents 



From "The Golden Legend." 
The Eternal Goodness . 
Nauhaught, the Deacon. 
From " Sunset on the Bear 

camp." 
From "Press On." 
Hymn of Trust. 
The Upright Soul. . 
A Little Word in 

Spoken. . 
Origin of the Opal. 
The Answer. . 



Henry W. Longfellow 
John G. Whittier 
John G. Whittier 



Night. 

The Way, the Truth, and the 

Life. . 
The Other World. . 
When I Awake I Am Still 

with Thee. 
The Song of the Mowers'. 
Summer Woods. 
A Hundred Years to Come. 

Nature 

Charity 

The Meeting Waters. 
Hearts That Hunger. 
The Two Angels. . 
Sleepy Hollow. 
Why Thus Longing ? 
The Sacrifice of the Will. 
Yussouf. .... 
From "The Vision of 

Launfal." . 
From "My Love." 
Looking unto God. 



John G. Whittier 

Park Benjamin 

Oliver W. Holmes 

J. H. Perkins 

Kindness 

Daniel C. Colesworthy 

Unknown 

Dscheladeddin 

trans. James F. Clarke 

Eliza G. Gale 



Theodore Parker 
Harriet B. Stowe 

Harriet B. Stowe 

William H. Burleigh 

William H. Burleigh 

William G. Brown 

Jones Very 

Elizabeth H. Whittier 

Elizabeth H. Whittier 

Unknown 

John G. Saxe 

William E. Channing 

Harriet W. Sewall 

Unknown 

James R. Lowell 



Sir 



James R. Lowell 

James R. Lowell 

Samuel Longfellow 



207 
208 



215 
216 
217 

218 

220 
220 
221 

223 

225 
226 

228 
229 

230 
231 
232 
233 
2 33 
234 
235 
237 
238 

239 
240 

242 
246 
247 



Contents 



Poems Unwritten. . 

Gradatim. 

The Hymn. 

Thoughts in a Library 

Love. 

The Love of God. . 

Between the Lights. 

The Alpine Sheep. . 

From "God is Love." 

Nobility. . 

Over-Payment. 

Little Gottlieb. 

Waking. . 

Vestis Angelica. 

Hast Thou Within a Care 

Deep ? 
Equinoctial. 
Up in the Wild. 
The Web of Life. . 
The Stork and the Ruby 
The Dead. 
The Old Book and the New 
The Banner of The King. 
Thee First and Last. 
Something New for Easter ! 
Abide with Us : For It 

toward Evening. 
The New Year. 
Hand-in-Hand with Angels. 
A Thanksgiving. 
"It Is More Blessed." . 

At Sea 

The Blue and the Gray . 
Under the Leaves. . 
The Light-House. . 



PAGE 

Unknown 248 

Josiah G. Holland 248 

Josiah G. Holland 250 

Anne C. L. Botta 251 

Anne C. L. Botta 252 

Eliza Scudder 252 

Unknown 253 

Maria W. Lowell 255 

Alice Cary 257 

Alice Cary 257 

Phoebe Cary 259 

Phcebe Cary 261 

Caroline A. Mason 265 

Thomas W. Higginson 267 
So 

Unknown 269 

Adeline D. T. Whitney 269 

Adeline D. T. Whitney 270 

Clara J. Moore 272 

Richard H. Stoddard 273 

Richard H. Stoddard 276 

Frank Bottome 276 

Frank Bottome 278 

Frank Bottome 280 

E. Bedell Benjamin 281 



Is 



Horatio N. Powers 282 

Horatio N. Powers 2S4 

Lucy Larcom 285 

Lucy Larcorn 287 

Rose T. Cooke 290 

John T. Trowbridge 291 

Francis M. Finch 293 

Albert Laightou 295 

Sarah H. Palfrey 296 



Contents 



The Way to Sing. 

A Last Prayer. 

The Thrush. . 

The Singer. 

From "The Ordeal by Fire." 

" Father, Take My Hand." 

The Gracious Answer 

All 's Well. . 

Ready. 

O Little Town of Bethlehem 

Unseen. . 

The Pastor's Reverie. 

Heaven. . 

Childhood's Prayer. 

Before the Rain. 

After the Rain. 

The Teacher's Dream 

The Sandpiper. 

A Song of Easter. . 

Thanksgiving. 

My Window-Ivy. 

There 's a Wedding in 

Orchard 
Our Own. 
Take Heart. 
Sunbeams. 
Peace. 

Listening for God. . 
The Petrified Fern . 
If We Had but a Day. 
In Prison. 
His Name Shall Be in 

Foreheads. 
The King's Daughter. 
Two Pictures. . 



Helen H. Jackson 

Helen H. Jackson 

Unknown 

Edmund C. Stedman 

Edmund C. Stedman 

Henry N. Cobb 

Henry N. Cobb 

Harriet McE. Kimball 

Margaret J. Preston 

Phillips Brooks 

Unknown 

Washington Gladden 

Nancy A. W. P. Wakefield 

Newton S. Otis 

Thomas B. Aldrich 

Thomas B. Aldrich 

W. H. Venable 

Celia Thaxter 

Celia Thaxter 

William D. Howells 

Mary M. Dodge 



the 



Their 



JVIary M. Dodge 

Margaret E. Sangster 

Edna D. Proctor 

Egbert Phelps 

Mary C. A. Hudson 

William C. Gannett 

Mary B. Branch 

Mary L. Dickinson 

. May R. Smith 



. May R. Smith 
Rebecca S. P. Utter 
Annie D. Robinson 



PAGE 
297 

298 
299 
300 
300 
30I 
302 
304 
305 
306 

307 
308 
311 
313 
314 
315 
315 
319 
320 
322 
322 

323 
325 
326 

327 
329 
331 
332 

334 
335 

333 
339 
34o 



Contents 



The Statue. 
In Good Time. 
Through Death to Life. . 
Unspoken Words. . 
The Little Brown v Seed. . 

When 

Christ will Gather His Own 

Remember. 

Discontent. 

Love. 



PAGE 

Henry Abbey 341 

Samuel W. Duffield 343 

. Unknown 343 

John B. O'Reilly 346 

Harriett M. Lothrop 348 

Sarah C. Woolsey 349 

. Unknown 352 

. Emma Lazarus 353 

. Sarah O. Jewett 354 

Charles F. Richardson 356 



God the Fountain of Love to 

His Children Madame Guyon 

trans. Unknown 
Two Angels. ...... Unknown 

To V. H. F ' H. R. H. S. 

Good-Bye H. R. H. S. 

Peace H. R. H. S. 

The Question and the Answer. Herbert W. Bowen 
Unheard. ..... Herbert W. Bowen 

The Works of Man and of 

Nature Herbert W. Bowen 

Red Roses. .... Herbert W. Bowen 

New- Year Voices Sarah G. Stock 

From " Consecration Hymn." 

Marianne Farmingham 
O Silence Deep and Strange ! J. F. Bichendorf 



God Knoweth. 

"Not a Sparrow Falleth. 

At Last. . 

The Angel of Patience. 



Mary G. Brainard 

. W. S. Passmore 

. Caroline Leslie 

Karl J. P. Spitta 

trans. Unknozvn 

" She Saith unto Him, Master." . Anonymous 

My Vesper Song. ..... Unknown 

For Jesus' Sake Unk7iown 

"A Daughter of the King." . Jennie Alexander 



357 
357 
358 
360 
361 
363 
363 

364 
364 
365 

366 
367 
368 
37o 
37o 

37i 
373 
374 
376 
377 



Contents 



The Patriarch Sat Alone. . . . Unknown 379 
I Know Not the Way I am 

Going Unknown 380 

Fragment Unknown 381 



SUNSHINE IN LIFE 

POEMS FOR THE KING'S DAUGHTERS 



Blesanfcer pope, 

i 688- i 744. 
THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER. 

Father of all ! in every age, 

In every clime adored, 
By saint, by savage, and by sage, 

Jehovah, Jove, or Lord ! 

Thou great First Cause, least understood, 

Who all my sense confined 
To know but this, that Thou art good, 

And that myself am blind ; 

Yet gave me, in this dark estate, 

To see the good from ill ; 
And, binding nature fast in fate, 

Iyeft free the human will. 



Sunsbfne in Htfe 



What conscience dictates to be done, 

Or warns me not to do, 
This teach me more than hell to shun, 

That more than heaven pursue. 

What blessing's Thy free bounty gives 

L,et me not cast away ; 
For God is paid when man receives : 

To enjoy is to obey. 

Yet not to earth's contracted span 
Thy goodness let me bound, 

Or think Thee Lord alone of man, 
When thousand worlds are round. 

I^et not this weak, unknowing hand 
Presume Thy bolts to throw, 

And deal damnation round the land 
On each I judge Thy foe. 

If I am right, Thy grace impart 

Still in the right to stay ; 
If I am wrong, O teach my heart 

To find that better way ! 

Save me alike from foolish pride, 

Or impious discontent, 
At aught Thy wisdom has denied, 

Or aught Thy goodness lent. 



poems for TLbc IRing's ©augbters 

Teach me to feel another's woe, 

To hide the fault I see ; 
That mercy I to others show, 

That mercy show to me. 

Mean though I am, not wholly so, 
Since quickened by Thy breath ; 

O lead me wheresoe'er I go, 
Through this day's life or death. 

This day be bread and peace my lot ; 

All else beneath the sun 
Thou know'st if best bestowed or not, 

And let Thy will be done ! 

To Thee whose temple is all space, — 
Whose altar, earth, sea, skies, — 

One chorus let all beings raise ! 
All Nature's incense rise ! 



3-osepb Hfcfcison. 

1672-1719. 

AN ODE. 

The spacious firmament on high, 
With all the blue ethereal sky, 
And spangled heavens, a shining frame, 
Their great Original proclaim. 



Sunsbfne in Xife 



The unwearied sun from day to day 
Does his Creator's power display, 
And publishes to every land 
The work of an Almighty Hand. 

Soon as the evening shades prevail, 
The moon takes up the wondrous tale, 
And nightly, to the listening earth, 
Repeats the story of her birth ; 
Whilst all the stars that round her burn, 
And all the planets in their turn, 
Confirm the tidings as they roll 
And spread the truth from pole to pole. 

What though in solemn silence all 
Move round the dark terrestrial ball ? 
What though nor real voice nor sound 
Amid their radiant orbs be found ? 
In reason's ear they all rejoice, 
And utter forth a glorious voice, 
For ever singing as they shine, 
" The Hand that made us is divine ! " 



fl>oems tor XLhc Ifcing's Daughters 
Tlbomas Sternbolfc* 

DIED I549. 

MAJESTY OF GOD. 

The L,ord descended from above, 
And bowed the heavens most high, 

And underneath His feet He cast 
The darkness of the sky. 

On cherubim and seraphim 

Full royally He rode, 
And on the wings of mighty winds 

Came flying all abroad. 

He sat serene upon the floods, 

Their fury to restrain ; 
And He, as sovereign I^ord and King, 

For evermore shall reign. 



William Brummonfc. 

1585-1649. 

TO A NIGHTINGALE. 

Sweet bird ! that sing'st away the early hours 
Of winters past, or coming, void of care ; 
Well pleased with delights which present are, 
Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling 

flowers : 
To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bowers, 



Sunsbine in %itc 



Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare, 
And what dear gifts on thee He did not spare, 
A stain to human sense in sin that lowers. 
What soul can be so sick which by thy songs 
(Attired in sweetness) sweetly is not driven 
Quite to forget earth's turmoils, spites, and 

wrongs, 
And lift a reverend eye and thought to heaven ? 
Sweet, artless songster ! thou my mind dost raise 
To airs of spheres, — yes, and to angels' lays. 



(Beorge Wftber. 

i 588-1667. 

FOR ONE THAT HEARS HIMSELF MUCH 
PRAISED. 

My sin and follies, I^ord ! by Thee 

From others hidden are, 
That such good words are spoke of me, 

As now and then I hear ; 
For sure if others knew me such, 

Such as myself I know, 
I should have been dispraised as much 

As I am praised now. 

The praise, therefore, which I have heard, 

Delights not so my mind, 
As those things make my heart afeard, 

Which in myself I find ; 



poems for Zbe Iking's Daughters 

And I had rather to be blamed, 

So I were blameless made, 
Than for much virtue to be famed, 

When I no virtues had. 

Though slanders to an innocent 

Sometimes do bitter grow, 
Their bitterness procures content, 

If clear himself he know. 
And when a virtuous man hath erred, 

If praised himself he hear, 
It makes him grieve, and more afeard 

Than if he slandered were. 

Lord ! therefore make my heart upright, 

Whate'er my deeds do seem ; 
And righteous rather in Thy sight, 

Than in the world's esteem. 
And if aught good appear to be 

In any act of mine, 
Let thankfulness be found in me, 

And all the praise be Thine. 



LEMUEL'S SONG. 

Who finds a woman good and wise, 

A gem more worth than pearl hath got ; 

Her husband's heart on her relies ; 
To live by spoil he needeth not. 



Sunsbine in 5Life 



His comfort all his life is she ; 

No wrong she willingly will do ; 
For wool and flax her searches be, 

And cheerful hands she puts thereto. 

The merchant-ship, resembling right, 

Her food she from afar doth fet. 
Ere day she wakes, that give she might 

Her maids their task, her household meat. 
A field she views, and that she buys ; 

Her hand doth plant a vineyard there ; 
Her loins with courage up she ties ; 

Her arms with vigor strengthened are. 

If in her work she profit feel, 

By night her candle goes not out : 
She puts her finger to the wheel, 

' Her hand the spindle turns about. 
To such as poor and needy are 

Her hand (yea, both hands) reacheth she. 
The winter none of hers doth fear, 

For double clothed her household be. 
She mantles maketh wrought by hand, 

And silk and purple clothing gets. 

Among the rulers of the land 

(Known in the gate) her husband sits. 
For sale fine linen weaveth she, 

And girdles to the merchant sends. 
Renown and strength her clothing be, 

And joy her later time attends. 



lpoems for £be IRtng's Daughters 

She speaks discreetly when she talks ; 

The law of grace her tongue hath learned ; 
She heeds the way her household walks, 

And feedeth not on bread unearned. 
Her children rise, and blest her call ; 

Her husband thus applaudeth her : 
" Oh, thou hast far surpassed them all, 

Though many daughters thriving are ! " 

Deceitful favor quickly wears, 

And beauty suddenly decays ; 
But, if the Lord she truly fears, 

That woman well deserveth praise, 
The fruit her handiwork obtains : 

Without repining grant her that, 
And yield her when her labor gains, 

To do her honor in the gate. 



Ifrancts (Salaries. 

i 592-1644. 

FROM " DELIGHT IN GOD ONLY." 

To Heaven's high city I direct my journey, 

Whose spangled suburbs entertain mine eye — 
Mine eye, by contemplation's great attorney, 

Transcends the crystal pavement of the sky ; 
But what is Heaven, great God, compared to 

Thee? 
Without Thy presence, Heaven 's no Heaven to 
me. 



Sunsbine tn %itc 



Without Thy presence, earth gives no refection • 
Without Thy presence, sea affords no treasure ; 

Without Thy presence air 's a rank infection ; 
Without Thy presence, Heaven itself 's no 
pleasure : 

If not possess'd, if not enjoy'd in Thee, 

What 's earth, or sea, or air, or Heaven to me ? 

The highest honors that the world can boast 
Are subjects far too low for my desire ; 

The brightest beams of glory are, at most, 
But dying sparkles of Thy living fire ; 

The proudest flames that earth can kindle be 

But nightly glow-worms if compared to Thee. 

Without Thy presence, wealth is bags of cares ; 

Wisdom but folly, joy disquiet sadness ; 
Friendship is treason, and delights are snares ; 

Pleasure 's but pain, and mirth but pleasing 
madness — 
Without Thee, L,ord, things be not what they be, 
Nor have their being, when compared with Thee. 

In having all things, and not Thee, what have I ? 

Not having Thee, what have my labors got ? 
L,et me enjoy but Thee, what further crave I ? 

And having Thee alone, what have I not ? 
I wish nor sea, nor land, nor would I be 
Possess'd of Heaven, Heaven unpossess'd of 
Thee! 



poems for Gbe IKfng's Daugbters 

Hlejanfcer 1bume. 

i 560-1609. 

A SUMMER'S DAY. 
From "The Day Estivall." 

The time so tranquil is and clear, 
That nowhere shall ye find, 

Save on a high and barren hill, 
An air of passing wind. 

All trees and simples, great and small, 

That balmy leaf do bear, 
Than they were painted on a wall, 

No more they move or stir. 

The ships becalmed upon the seas. 

Hang up their sails to dry ; 
The herds, beneath the leafy trees, 

Among the flowers they lie. 

Great is the calm, for everywhere 
The wind is settling down : 

The smoke goes upright in the air, 
From every tower and town. 

What pleasure, then, to walk and see, 

Along a river clear, 
The perfect form of every tree 

Within the deep appear : 



Sunsbine in %itc 



The bells and circles on trie waves, 

From leaping of the trout ; 
The salmon from their creels and caves 

Come gliding in and out. 

O sure it were a seemly thing, 

While all is still and calm, 
The praise of God to play and sing, 

With trumpet and with shalm ! 

All laborers draw home at even, 

And can to others say : 
" Thanks to the gracious God of Heaven, 

Who sent this summer day." 



Sohn jfllMlton, 

i 608- 1 674. 

ON HIS BLINDNESS. 

When I consider how my light is spent, 
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, 
And that one talent, which is death to hide, 
Iyodged with me useless, though my soul more 

bent 
To serve therewith my Maker, and present 
My true account, lest He returning chide ; 
' ' Doth God exact day-labor, light denied ? ' ' 
I fondly ask ; but Patience, to prevent 



poems tor STbe IRtng's 2>augbters 13 

That murmur, soon replies : ' ' God doth not need 
Either man's work or His own gifts ; who best 
Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best ; His 

state 
Is kingly ; thousands at His bidding speed, 
And post o'er land and ocean without rest ; 
They also serve who only stand and wait. ' ' 



HAIL, HOLY LIGHT. 

From " Paradise Lost," Book III. 

Hail, holy Light, offspring of Heaven first-born ! 
Or of the Eternal coeternal beam, 
May I express thee unblamed? since God is light, 
And never but in unapproached light 
Dwelt from eternity— dwelt then in thee, 
Bright effluence of bright essence increate ! 
Or hear'st thou rather pure ethereal stream, 
Whose fountain who shall tell ? Before the Sun, 
Before the heavens thou wert, and at the voice 
Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest 
The rising world of waters dark and deep, 
Won from the void and formless Infinite ! 



For wonderful indeed are all His works. 
Pleasant to know, and worthiest to be all 
Had in remembrance always with delight ! 
But what created mind can comprehend 



14 Sunebine in Xife 

Their number, or the wisdom infinite 

That brought them forth, but hid their causes 

deep ? 
I saw when at His word the formless mass, 
This world's material mould, came to a heap : 
Confusion heard His voice, and wild uproar 
Stood ruled, stood vast Infinitude confined ; 
Till, at His second bidding, darkness fled, 
Light shone, and order from disorder sprung. 



IRobert Xeigbton. 

1611-1684. 

DUTY. 

I reach a duty, yet I do it not, 

And therefore see no higher ; but, if done, 
My view is brighten' d and another spot 

Seen on my moral sun. 

For, be the duty high as angels' flight, 

Fulfil it, and a higher will arise, 
E'en from its ashes. Duty is infinite — 

Receding as the skies. 

And thus it is, the purest most deplore 
Their want of purity. As fold by fold, 

In duties done, falls from their eyes, the more 
Of Duty they behold. 



poems for Zbe lking'6 2)augbters 15 

Were it not wisdom, then, to close our eyes 
On duties crowding only to appall ? 

No ; Duty is our ladder to the skies, 
And, climbing not, we fall. 



Ibenrs Daugbaru 

1621-1695. 

THE RAINBOW. 

Still 3'oung and fine, but what is still in view 
We slight as old and soil'd, though fresh and 

new. 
How bright wert thou, when Shem's admiring 

eye 
Thy burnish' d, flaming arch did first descry ! 
When Terah, Nahor, Haran, Abram, Lot, 
The youthful world's gray fathers, in one knot 
Did with intentive looks watch every hour 
For thy new light, and trembled at each shower ! 
When thou dost shine, darkness looks white and 

fair, 
Forms turn to music, clouds to smiles and air : 
Rain gently spends his honey-drops, and pours 
Balm on the cleft earth, milk on grass and 

flowers. 
Bright pledge of peace and sunshine ! the sure 

tie 



16 Sunsbine in %ifc 

Of thy L/ord's hand, the object of His eye ! 
When I behold thee, though my light be dim, 
Distinct and low, I can in thine see Him, 
Who looks upon thee from His glorious throne, 
And minds the covenant betwixt all and One. 



IRicbarfc Baxter, 

1615-1691. 

RESIGNATION. 

Iyord, it belongs not to my care, 

Whether I die or live : 
To love and serve Thee is my share, 

And this Thy grace must give. 
If life be long, I will be glad, 

That I may long obey ; 
If short, yet why should I be sad 

To soar to endless day ? 

Christ leads me through no darker rooms 

Than He went through before ; 
He that into God's kingdom comes 

Must enter by His door. 
Come, I/Ord, when grace has made me meet 

Thy blessed face to see ; 
For if Thy work on earth be sweet, 

What will Thy glory be ? 



poems for Gbe Iking's Baugbters 17 

Then shall I end my sad complaints, 

And weary, sinful days ; 
And join with the triumphant saints 

That sing Jehovah's praise. 
My knowledge of that life is small, 

The eye of faith is dim ; 
But 't is enough that Christ knows all, 

And I shall be with Him. 



Ubomas ]£llwoo£>. 

1639-1713. 

PRAYER. 

Unto the glory of Thy Holy Name, 

Eternal God ! whom I both love and fear, 

Here bear I witness that I never came 

Before Thy throne and found Thee loath to 

hear, 
But, ever ready with an open ear. 

And though sometimes Thou seem'st Thy face 
to hide, 
As one that hath his love withdrawn from me, 

'T is that my faith may to the full be tried, 
And I thereby may only better see 
How weak I am when not upheld by Thee. 



18 Sunsbfne in %itc 

Ubomas Ifoe^woofc. 

DIED about 1640. 
SEARCH AFTER GOD. 

I sought Thee round about, O Thou my God ! 

In Thine abode. 
I said unto the earth, " Speak, art thou He ? " 

She answered me, 
" I am not." I inquired of creatures all, 

In general, 
Contained therein. They with one voice pro- 
claim 
That none amongst them challenged such a 
name. 



I asked the seas and all the deeps below 

My God to know ; 
I asked the reptiles and whatever is 

In the abyss, — 
Even from the shrimp to the leviathan 

Inquiry ran ; 
But in those deserts which no line can sound 
The God I sought for was not to be found. 



I asked the air if that were He ! but lo ! 

It told me "No." 
I from the towering eagle to the wren 

Demanded then 



poems for Zbe Iking's Daughters 19 

If any feathered fowl 'mongst them were such ; 

But they all, much 
Offended with my question, in full choir, 
Answered, "To find thy God thou must look 
higher. ' ' 

I asked the heavens, sun, moon, and stars ; but 
they 

Said, "We obey 
The God thou seekest. ' ' I asked what eye or 
ear 

Could see or hear, — 
What in the world I might descry or know 

Above, below ; 
With an unanimous voice, all these things said, 
" We are not God, but we by Him were made." 

I asked the world's great universal mass 

If that God was ; 
Which with a mighty and strong voice replied, 

As stupefied, — 
' ' I am not He, O man ! for know that I 

By Him on high 
Was fashioned first of nothing ; thus instated 
And swayed by Him by whom I was created." 



I sought the court ; but smooth-tongued flattery 
there 

Deceived each ear ; 



Sunsbfnc in Xffe 



In the thronged city there was selling, buying, 

Swearing and lying ; 
I' the country, craft in simpleness arrayed, 

And then I said, — 
' ' Vain is my search, although my pains be great ; 
Where my God is there can be no deceit. ' ' 

A scrutiny within myself I then 

Even thus began : 
" O man, what art thou ? " What more could I 
say 

Than dust and clay, — 
Frail, mortal, fading, a mere puff, a blast, 

That cannot last ; 
Enthroned to-day, to-morrow in an urn, 
Formed from that earth to which I must return ? 



I asked myself what this great God might be 

That fashioned me. 
I answered : The all-potent, sole, immense, 

Surpassing sense ; 
Unspeakable, inscrutable, eternal, 

Iyord over all ; 
The only terrible, strong, just, and true, 
Who hath no end and no beginning knew. 



He is the well of life, for He doth give 
To all that live 



poems for dbe Ifting's 2>augbters 21 

Both breath and being ; He is the Creator 

Both of the water, 
Earth, air, and fire. Of all things that subsist 

He hath the list, — 
Of all the heavenly host, or what earth claims, 
He keeps the scroll, and calls them by their 

names. 

And now, my God, by Thine illumining grace, 

Thy glorious face 
(So far forth as it may discovered be) 

Methinks I see ; 
And though invisible and infinite, 

To human sight 
Thou, in Thy mercy, justice, truth, appearest, 
In which, to our weak sense, Thou comest 
nearest. 

O, make us apt to seek and quick to find, 

Thou, God, most kind ! 
Give us love, hope, and faith, in Thee to trust, 

Thou God, most just ! 
Remit all our offences, we entreat, 

Most good ! most great ! 
Grant that our willing, though unworthy, quest 
May, through Thy grace, admit us 'mongst the 
blest. 



Sunsbine in %ite 



pbilip 2>o£>fcrtt>ge. 

1702-1751. 

YE GOLDEN LAMPS OF HEAVEN, FAREWELL! 

Ye golden lamps of heaven, farewell, 

With all your feeble light ! 
Farewell, thou ever-changing moon, 

Pale empress of the night ! 

And thou, refulgent orb of day, 

In brighter flames arrayed ; 
My soul, that springs beyond thy sphere, 

No more demands thine aid. 

Ye stars are but the shining dust 

Of my divine abode ; 
The pavement of those heavenly courts 

Where I shall reign with God. 

;je :{: sjs % ^c ^c 

There all the millions of His saints 

Shall in one song unite ; 
And each the bliss of all shall view, 

With infinite delight. 

" DUM VIVIMUS VIVAMUS." 

1 ' Live while you live ! ' ' the epicure would say, 
1 ' And seize the pleasures of the present day ! ' ' 
' ' Live while you live ! ' ' the sacred preacher cries, 
' ' And give to God each moment as it flies ! ' ' 
Lord, in my view let both united be ; 
I live in pleasure while I live to Thee. 



Poems for ftbe Iking's Daughters 23 

Cbarles WLeslcy. 

1 708-1 788. 

MY CONSECRATION. 

Take my soul and body's powers ; 

Take my memory, mind, and will ; 
All my goods, and all my hours ; 

All I know and all I feel ; 
All I think, or speak, or do ; 
Take my heart, but make it new. 



FOR THE YOUNGEST. 

Gentle Jesus, meek and mild, 
Look upon a little child ; 
Pity my simplicity, 
Suffer me to come to Thee. 

Fain I would to Thee be brought ; 
Dearest God, forbid it not ; 
Give me, dearest God, a place 
In the kingdom of Thy grace. 

Put Thy hands upon my head, 
Let me in Thine arms be stayed ; 
Let me lean upon Thy breast, 
Lull me, lull me, Lord, to rest. 



24 Sunsbine in %ite 

Hold me fast in Thy embrace, 
Iyet me see Thy smiling face. 
Give me, L,ord, Thy blessing give ; 
Pray for me, and I shall live ! 

I shall live the simple life, 
Free from sin's uneasy strife, 
Sweetly ignorant of ill, 
Innocent and happy still. 

Oh, that I may never know 
What the wicked people do ! 
Sin is contrary to Thee, 
Sin is the forbidden tree. 

Keep me from the great offence, 
Guard my helpless innocence ; 
Hide me, from all evil hide, 
Self, and stubbornness, and pride. 

Lamb of God, I look to Thee ; 
Thou shalt my Example be ; 
Thou art gentle, meek, and mild, 
Thou wast once a little child. 

Fain I would be as Thou art ; 
Give me Thy obedient heart. 
Thou art pitiful and kind ; 
I^et me have Thy loving mind. 



Ipoems for Vfoc Ikfng's Daugbters 25 

Meek and lowly may I be ; 
Thou art all humility. 
l,et me to my betters bow ; 
Subject to Thy parents' Thou. 

I*et me above all fulfil 
God my heavenly Father's will ; 
Never His good spirit grieve, 
Only to His glory live. 

Thou didst live to God alone, 
Thou didst never seek Thine own ; 
Thou Thyself didst never please, 
God was all Thy happiness. 

L,oving Jesu, gentle Iyamb, 
In Thy gracious hands I am. 
Make me, Saviour, what Thou art, 
Live Thyself within my heart. 

I shall then show forth Thy praise, 
Serve Thee all my happy days ; 
Then the world shall always see 
Christ, the holy child in me. 



26 Sunsbine in %itc 

Ufoomas (3rap. 

1716-1771. 

ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH- 
YARD (STOKE-POGIS). 

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea ; 

The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, 
And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 
And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 

Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds : 

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower, 
The moping owl does to the moon complain 

Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, 
Molest her ancient solitary reign. 

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, 
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering 
heap, 

Bach in his narrow cell forever laid, 

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, 
The swallow twittering from the straw-built 
shed, 

The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 



fl>oems for Gbe IRfng'5 Daughters 27 

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 
Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; 

No children run to lisp their sire's return, 
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; 

How jocund did they drive their team afield ! 
How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy 
stroke ! 

Iyet not ambition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 

Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile 
The short and simple annals of the poor. 

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 

Await alike the inevitable hour ; — 

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, 
If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, 

Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted 
vault 
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 

Can storied urn or animated bust 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 
Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust, 

Or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death ? 



28 Sunsbine in Xife 

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; 

Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed, 
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre : 

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, 
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll ; 

Chill penury repressed their noble rage, 
And froze the genial current of the soul. 

Full many a gem of purest ray serene 

The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear ; 

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast, 
The little tyrant of his fields withstood ; 

Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest ; 
Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. 

The applause of listening senates to command, 
The threats of pain and ruin to despise, 

To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 
And read their history in a nation's eyes, 

Their lot forbade ; nor circumscribed alone 

Their growing virtues, but their crimes con- 
fined; 

Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, 
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ; 



Ipoems for XZbe Ifting's Daugbtct-s 29 

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, 
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, 

Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride 
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. 

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife 
Their sober wishes never learned to stray ; 

Along the cool, sequestered vale of life 
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 

Yet even these bones from insult to protect, 
Some frail memorial still erected nigh, 

With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture 
decked 
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 

Their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered 
Muse, 

The place of fame and elegy supply ; 
And many a holy text around she strews, 

That teach the rustic moralist to die. 

For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, 
This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned, 

I^eft the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 
Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind ? 

On some fond breast the parting soul relies, 
Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; 

E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, 
E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. 



3° Sunsbine in Xifc 

For thee, who, mindful of the unhonored dead, 
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate ; 

If chance, by lonely contemplation led, 

Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, — 

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say : 
' ' Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn, 

Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, 
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn : 

" There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, 
That wreathes its old, fantastic roots so high, 

His listless length at noontide would he stretch, 
And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 

' ' Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, 
Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove ; 

Now drooping, woful-wan, like one forlorn, 
Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love. 

' ' One morn I missed him on the customed hill, 
Along the heath, and near his favorite tree ; 

Another came, — nor yet beside the rill, 
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he ; 

"The next, with dirges due, in sad array, 
Slow through the church- way path we saw him 
borne ; — 

Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay 
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn. ' ' 



lPoems for Gbe Iking's Daughters 31 

the; epitaph. 

Here rests his liead upon the lap of earth, 
A youth to fortune and to fame unknown ; 

Fair science frowned not on his humble birth, 
And melancholy marked him for her own. 

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere ; 

Heaven did a recompense as largely send : 
He gave to misery (all he had) a tear ; 

He gained from Heaven ('t was all he wished) 
a friend. 

No further seek his merits to disclose, 

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode ; 

(There they alike in trembling hope repose,) 
The bosom of his Father and his God. 



©liver (Bolfcsmttb. 

1 728-1 774. 

FROM "THE DESERTED VILLAGE" (LISSOY). 

Near yonder copse, where once the garden 
smiled, 

And still where many a garden flower grows 
wild, 

There, where a few torn shrubs the place dis- 
close, 

The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 



32 Sunsbfne in %ifc 

A man he was to all the country dear, 
And passing rich with forty pounds a year ; 
Remote from towns he ran his godly race, 
Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his 

place ; 
Unpractised he to fawn, or seek for power, 
By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour ; 
For other aims his heart had learned to prize, 
More skilled to raise the wretched than to rise. 
His house was known to all the vagrant train, 
He chid their wanderings, but relieved their 

pain ; 
The long-remembered beggar was his guest, 
Whose beard descending swept his aged breast ; 
The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud, 
Claimed kindred there, and had his claims al- 
lowed ; 
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, 
Sat by his fire, and talked the night away ; 
Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done, 
Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields 

were won. 
Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to 

glow, 
And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; 
Careless their merits or their faults to scan, 
His pity gave ere charity began. 
Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride. 
And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side — 
But in his duty, prompt at every call, 



poems for Zbc Ifting's 2>augbters 33 

He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for 

all; 
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries 
To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, 
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, 
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. 

Beside the bed where parting life was laid, 
And sorrow, guilt, and pain by turns dismayed, 
The reverend champion stood. At his control 
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; 
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to 

raise, 
And his last, faltering accents whispered praise. 

At church, with meek and unaffected grace, 
His looks adorned the venerable place ; 
Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway, 
And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray. 
The service past, around the pious man, 
With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran ; 
Even children followed, with endearing wile, 
And plucked his gown, to share the good man's 

smile. 
His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed, 
Their welfare pleased him, and their cares dis- 
tressed ; 
To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were 

given, 
But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. 



34 Sunsbtne in %ifc 

As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, 
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the 

storm, 
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are 

spread, 
Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 



William Cowper, 

1731-1800. 

LIGHT SHINING OUT OF DARKNESS. 

God moves in a mysterious way 

His wonders to perform ; 
He plants His footsteps in the sea, 

And rides upon the storm. 

Deep in unfathomable mines 

Of never-failing skill, 
He treasures up His bright designs, 

And works His sovereign will. 

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take ! 

The clouds ye so much dread, 
Are big with mercy, and shall break 

In blessings on your head. 

Judge not the L,ord by feeble sense, 
But trust Him for His grace ; 

Behind a frowning providence 
He hides a smiling face. 



poems for XLhe IRlng's Daughters 35 

His purposes will ripen fast, 

Unfolding every hour ; 
The bud may have a bitter taste, 

But sweet will be the flower. 

Blind unbelief is sure to err, 
And scan His works in vain ; 

God is His own interpreter, 
And He will make it plain. 

WINTER. 
From "The Task." Book IV. 

Oh winter ! ruler of the inverted year, 
Thy scattered hair with sleet like ashes filled, 
Thy breath congealed upon thy lips, thy cheeks 
Fringed with a beard made white with other 

snows 
Than those of age, thy forehead wrapt in clouds, 
A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne 
A sliding car, indebted to no wheels, 
But urged by storms along its slippery way, 
I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st, 
And dreaded as thou art. Thou hold'st the sun 
A prisoner in the yet undawning east, 
Shortening his journey between morn and noon, 
And hurrying him, impatient of his stay 
Down to the rosy west ; but kindly still 
Compensating his loss with added hours 
Of social converse and instructive ease, 



36 Sunebine in Xtfe 

And gathering, at short notice, in one group 
The family dispersed, and fixing thought 
Not less dispersed by daylight and its cares. 
I crown thee king of intimate delights, 
Fire-side enjoyments, home-born happiness, 
And all the comforts that the lowly roof 
Of undisturbed retirement, and the hours 
Of long uninterrupted evening know. 



flfeafcame Jeanne /IDarfe Bow>ier &e la 
flDotbe <3u£on. 

1648-1717. 

THE SOUL THAT LOVES GOD FINDS HIM 
EVERYWHERE. 

Thou, by long experience tried, 
Near whom no grief can long abide ; 
My Love ! how full of sweet content 

1 pass my years of banishment ! 

All scenes alike engaging prove 
To souls impressed with sacred Love ! 
Where'er they dwell, they dwell in Thee ; 
In heaven, in earth, or on the sea. 

To me remains nor place nor time ; 
My country is in every clime ; 
I can be calm and free from care 
On any shore, since God is there. 



fl>oems for XLbe Iklng's Daugbters 37 

While place we seek, or place we shun, 
The soul finds happiness in none ; 
But with a God to guide our way, 
'T is equal joy to go or stay. 

Could I be cast where Thou art not, 
That were indeed a dreadful lot ; 
But regions none remote I call, 
Secure of finding God in all. 

My country, Lord, art Thou alone ; 
Nor other can I claim or own ; 
The point where all my wishes meet ; 
My Law, my Love ; life's only sweet ! 

I hold by nothing here below ; 

Appoint my journey, and I go ; 

Though pierced by scorn, oppressed by pride, 

I feel Thee good — feel nought beside. 

No frowns of men can hurtful prove 
To souls on fire with heavenly Love ; 
Though men and devils both condemn, 
No gloomy days arise from them. 

Ah then ! to His embrace repair ; 
My soul, thou art no stranger there ; 
There Love divine shall be thy guard, 
And peace and safety thy reward. 

Translated by Wm. Cowper. 



38 Sunsbine in Xife 

Bnna %. Barbautt), 

1743-1825. 

THE SABBATH OF THE SOUL. 

Sleep, sleep to-day, tormenting cares, 
Of earth and folly born ; 
Ye shall not dim the light that streams 
From this celestial morn. 

To-morrow will be time enough 
To feel your harsh control ; 
Ye shall not violate, this day, 
The Sabbath of my soul. 

Sleep, sleep forever, guilty thoughts ; 
Let fires of vengeance die ; 
And, purged from sin, may I behold 
A God of purity ! 

LIFE. 

Life ! I know not what thou art, 
But know that thou and I must part ; 
And when, or how, or where we met, 
I own to me 's a secret yet. 

^ % ^ ^ * % 

Life ! we 've been long together 
Through pleasant and through cloudy weather ; 
'T is hard to part when friends are dear, — 
Perhaps 't will cost a sigh, a tear ; 



poems for Hhe IkiriQ'e Baugbters 39 

Then steal away, give little warning, 
Choose thine own time ; 

Say not good-night, — but in some brighter clime 
Bid me good-morning. 

THE DEATH OF THE VIRTUOUS. 

Sweet is the scene when virtue dies ! 

When sinks a righteous soul to rest, 
How mildly beam the closing eyes, 

How gently heaves the expiring breast ! 

So fades a summer cloud away, 

So sinks the gale when storms are o'er, 

So gently shuts the eye of day, 
So dies a wave along the shore. 

Triumphant smiles the victor brow, 

Fanned by some angel's purple wing ; — ■ 

Where is, O grave ! thy victory now ? 
And where, insidious death ! thy sting ? 

Farewell, conflicting joys and fears, 
Where light and shade alternate dwell ! 

How bright the unchanging morn appears ; — 
Farewell, inconstant world, farewell ! 

Its duty done, — as sinks the clay, 
Iyight from its load the spirit flies ; 

While heaven and earth combine to say, 
" Sweet is the scene when virtue dies ! " 



4o Sunsbine in Xife 

5obn Xogan. 

i 748- i 788. 

TO THE CUCKOO. 

Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove ! 

Thou messenger of spring ! 
Now heaven repairs thy rural seat, 

And woods thy welcome sing. 

What time the daisy decks the green, 

Thy certain voice we hear ; 
Hast thou a star to guide thy path, 

Or mark the rolling year ? 

Delightful visitant ! with thee 

I hail the time of flowers, 
And hear the sound of music sweet 

From birds among the bowers. 

The school-boy, wandering through the wood 

To pull the primrose gay, 
Starts, the new voice of spring to hear, 

And imitates thy lay. 

What time the pea puts on the bloom, 

Thou fliest thy vocal vale, 
An annual guest in other lands, 

Another spring to hail. 

Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever green, 

Thy sky is ever clear ; 
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, 

No winter in thy year ! 



poems tor Gbe Ifttng's Daugbters 41 

O could I fly, I 'd fly with thee ! 

We 'd make, with joyful wing, 
Our annual visit o'er the globe, 

Companions of the spring. 



Sir William Jones* 

1 746-1 794. 

THE BABE (PERSIAN). 

Naked on parent's knees, a new-born child, 
Weeping thou sat'st when all around thee smiled : 

So live, that sinking to thy last long sleep, 
Thou then mayst smile while all around thee 
weep. 



William Blafee. 

1757-1828. 

THE LITTLE BLACK BOY. 

My mother bore me in the southern wild, 
And I am black, but, oh, my soul is white 

White as an angel is the English child, 
But I am black, as if bereaved of light. 

My mother taught me underneath a tree ; 

And, sitting down before the heat of day, 
She took me on her lap and kissed me, 

And, pointing to the Bast, began to say : 



42 Sunsbine in Xtfe 

' ' Ivook on the rising snn ; there God does live, 
And gives His light, and gives His heat away, 

And flowers, and trees, and beasts, and men re- 
ceive 
Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday. 

"And we are put on earth a little space, 
That we may learn to bear the beams of love ; 

And these black bodies and this sunburnt face 
Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove. 

"For, when our souls have learn' d the heat to 
bear, 
The cloud will vanish, we shall hear His voice 
Saying : ' Come from the grove, my love and care, 
And round my golden tent like lambs re- 
joice.' " 

Thus did my mother say, and kissed me, 
And thus I say to little English boy. 

When I from black, and he from white cloud 
free, 
And round the tent of God like lambs we joy, 

I '11 shade him from the heat till he can bear 
To lean in joy upon our Father's knee ; 

And then I '11 stand and stroke his silver hair, 
And be like him, and he will then love me. 



poems for ZTbe IKfng's Daughters 43 
« 

Ibelen /n>aria Williams, 

1 762-1827. 

WHILST THEE I SEEK. 

Whilst Thee I seek, protecting Power, 

Be my vain wishes stilled ! 
And may this consecrated hour 

With better hopes be filled. 

Thy love the power of thought bestowed ; 

To Thee my thoughts would soar : 
Thy mercy o'er my life has flowed, 

That mercy I adore. 

In each event of life, how clear 

Thy ruling hand I see ! 
Bach blessing to my soul more dear,. 

Because conferred by Thee. 

In every joy that crowns my days, 

In every pain I bear, 
My heart shall find delight in praise, 

Or seek relief in prayer. 

When gladness wings my favored hour, 
Thy love my thoughts shall fill ; 

Resigned, when storms of sorrow lower, 
My soul shall meet Thy will. 

My lifted eye, without a tear, 
The gathering storm shall see ; 

,My steadfast heart shall know no fear ; 
That heart shall rest on Thee. 



44 Sunsbfnc In %itc 

William Wortewortb. 

1770-1850. 

THE DAFFODILS. 

I wandered lonely as a cloud 

That floats on high o'er vales and hills, 
When all at once I saw a crowd, 

A host of golden daffodils, 
Beside the lake, beneath the trees, 
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 

Continuous as the stars that shine 
And twinkle on the Milky Way, 

They stretched in never-ending line 
Along the margin of a bay ; 

Ten thousand saw I at a glance, 

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 

The waves beside them danced, but they 
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee ; 

A poet could not but be gay 
In such a jocund company ; 

I gazed — and gazed — but little thought 

What wealth the show to me had brought ; 

For oft, when on my couch I lie 

In vacant or in pensive mood, 
They flash upon that inward eye 

Which is the bliss of solitude ; 
And then my heart with pleasure fills ; 

And dances with the daffodils. 



Ipoems for ftbe IRfng's IDaugbtere 45 

WE ARE SEVEN. 

A simple child, 

That lightly draws its breath, 
And feels its life in every limb, 

What should it know of death ? 

I met a little cottage girl ; 

She was eight years old, she said ; 
Her hair was thick with many a curl 

That clustered round her head. 

She had a rustic, woodland air, 

And she was wildly clad : 
Her eyes were fair, and very fair — 

Her beauty made me glad. 

" Sisters and brothers, little maid, 

How many may you be ? " 
" How many ? Seven in all," she said, 

And wondering look'd at me. 

" And where are they ? I pray you tell." 
She answered : ' ' Seven are we ; 

And two of us at Conway dwell, 
And two are gone to sea. 

' ' Two of us in the churchyard lie, 

My sister and my brother ; 
And in the churchyard cottage I 

Dwell near them with my mother." 



46 Sunsbfne in %itc 

" You say that two at Conway dwell, 

And two are gone to sea, 
Yet ye are seven ! I pray you tell, 

Sweet maid, how this may be ? " 

Then did the little maid reply : 

' ' Seven boys and girls are we ; 
Two of us in the churchyard lie, 

Beneath the churchyard tree." 

' ' You run about, my little maid, 

Your limbs they are alive ; 
If two are in the churchyard laid, 

Then ye are only five. ' ' 

" Their graves are green, they may be seen," 

The little maid replied, 
" Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, 

And they are side by side. 

" My stockings there I often knit, 

My kerchief there I hem ; 
And there upon the ground I sit — 

I sit and sing to them. 

' ' And often after sunset, sir, 

When it is light and fair, 
I take my little porringer, 

And eat my supper there. 

' ' The first that died was little Jane ; 
In bed she moaning lay, 



Ipoems for XLbc Iftfng's 2>augbters 47 

Till God released her of her pain ; 
And then she went away. 

" So in the churchyard she was laid ; 

And when the grass was dry, 
Together round her grave we play'd, 

My brother John and I. 

' ' And when the ground was white with snow, 

And I could run and slide, 
My brother John was forced to go, 

And he lies by her side. ' ' 

" How many are you, then ? " said I, 

"If they two are in heaven ? ' ' 
The little maiden did reply : 

' ' Oh, master, we are seven ! ' ' 

' ' But they are dead — those two are dead, 

Their spirits are in Heaven ! ' ' 
'T was throwing words away, for still 
The little maid would have her will, 

And said : ' ' Nay, we are seven ! ' ' 

TO THE RIVER DUDDON. 

I thought of thee, my partner and my guide, 
As being passed away — vain sympathies ! 
For backward, Duddon ! as I cast my eyes, 
I see what was, and is, and will abide : 
Still glides the stream, and shall not cease to 
glide ; 



Sunsbinc in OLffe 



The form remains, the function never dies ; 
While we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise, 
We men, who in our morn of youth defied 
The elements, must vanish ; — be it so ! 
Enough, if something from our hands have power 
To live, and act, and serve the future hour ; 
And if, as toward the silent tomb we go, 
Through love, through hope, and faith's trans- 
cendent dower, 
We feel that we are greater than we know. 



Sit Matter Scott 

1771-1832. 

REBECCA'S HYMN. 

When Israel, of the I,ord beloved, 

Out from the land of bondage came, 
Her fathers' God before her moved, 

An awful guide in smoke and flame. 
By day, along the astonished lands, 

The cloudy pillar glided slow ; 
By night, Arabia's crimsoned sands 

Returned the fiery column's glow. 

There rose the choral hymn of praise, 
And trump and timbrel answered keen ; 

And Zion's daughters poured their lays, 
With priest's and warrior's voice between. 



Ipoems for Zbc frtng'a Daughters 49 

No portents now our foes amaze, — 

Forsaken Israel wanders lone ; 
Our fathers would not know Thy ways, 

And Thou hast left them to their own. 

But present still, though now unseen, 

When brightly shines the prosperous day, 
Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen, 

To temper the deceitful ray, 
And O, when stoops on Judah's path 

In shade and storm the frequent night, 
Be Thou, long-suffering, slow to wrath, 

A burning and a shining light ! 

Our harps we left by Babel's streams, — 

The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn, 
No censer round our altar beams, 

And mute are timbrel, harp, and horn. 
But Thou hast said, The blood of goats, 

The flesh of rams, I will not prize, — 
A contrite heart, a humble thought, 

Are mine accepted sacrifice. 

THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 
From "Canto I." 

And now, to issue from the glen, 
No pathway meets the wanderer's ken, 
Unless he climb, with footing nice, 
A far-projecting precipice. 



so Sunsblne in Xife 

The broom's tough roots his ladder made, 

The hazel saplings lent their aid ; 

And thus an airy point he won, 

Where, gleaming with the setting sun, 

One burnished sheet of living gold, 

Loch-Katrine lay beneath him rolled ; 

In all her length far winding lay ; 

With promontory, creek, and bay, 

And islands that, empurpled bright, 

Floated amid the livelier light ; 

And mountains, that like giants stand 

To sentinel enchanted land. 

High on the south, huge Ben- Venue 

Down to the lake in masses threw 

Crags, knolls, and mounds, confusedly hurled, 

The fragments of an earlier world ; 

A wildering forest feathered o'er 

His ruined sides and summit hoar, 

While on the north, through middle air, 

Ben- An heaved high his forehead bare. 

From "Canto III." 

Time rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yore 
Who danced our infancy upon their knee, 
And told our marvelling boyhood legends store 
Of their strange ventures happ'd by land or sea, 
How are they blotted from the things that be ! 
How few, all weak and withered of their force, 
Wait, on the verge of dark eternity, 



poems for Gbe Iking's 2>augbters 51 

Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning hoarse, 
To sweep them from our sight ! Time rolls his 
ceaseless course. 

CORONACH. 

He is gone on the mountain, 

He is lost to the forest, 
Like a summer-dried fountain, 

When our need was the sorest. 
The font reappearing 

From the rain-drops shall borrow ; 
But to us comes no cheering, 

To Duncan no morrow ! 

The hand of the reaper 

Takes the ears that are hoary, 
But the voice of the weeper 

Wails manhood in glory, 
The autumn winds, rushing, 

Waft the leaves that are searest ; 
But our flower was in flushing, 

When blighting was nearest. 

Fleet-foot on the correi, 

Sage counsel in cumber, 
Red hand in the foray, 

How sound is thy slumber ! 
Like the dew on the mountain, 

Like the foam on the river, 
Like the bubble on the fountain, 

Thou art gone, and forever ! 



52 Sunsbine fn %itc 

Sames /iDontgomer^. 

1771-1854. 

"FOREVER WITH THE LORD!" 

' ' Forever with the Lord ! ' ' 

Amen ! so let it be ! 
Life from the dead is in that word 

'T is immortality. 

Here in the body pent, 

Absent from Him I roam, 
Yet nightly pitch my moving tent 

A day's march nearer home. 

My Father's house on high, 
Home of my soul ! how near, 

At times, to faith's foreseeing eye 
Thy golden gates appear ! 

Ah ! then my spirit faints 

To reach the land I love, 
The bright inheritance of saints, 

Jerusalem above ! 

Yet clouds will intervene, 

And all my prospect flies ; 
Like Noah's dove, I flit between 

Rough seas and stormy skies. 

Anon the clouds depart, 

The winds and waters cease ; 

While sweetly o'er my gladdened heart 
Expands the bow of peace ! 



poems for Gbe IRtng's 2>augbtcrs 53 

Beneath its glowing arch, 
Along the hallowed ground, 

I see cherubic armies march, 
A camp of fire around. 

I hear at morn and even, 
At noon and midnight hour, 

The choral harmonies of heaven 
Earth's Babel tongues o'erpower. 

Then, then I feel that He, 

Remembered or forgot, 
The Iyord, is never far from me, 

Though I perceive Him not. 

In darkness as in light, 

Hidden alike from view, 
I sleep, I wake, within His sight, 

Who looks existence through. 



All that I am, have been, 

All that I yet may be, 
He sees at once, as He hath seen, 

And shall forever see. 



' ' Forever with the I^ord ! ' ' 
Father, if 't is Thy will, 
The promise of that faithful word, 
Even here to me fulfil ! 



54 Sunsbfne in Xife 

So when my latest breath 
Shall rend the veil in twain, 

By death I shall escape from death, 
And life eternal gain. 

THE STRANGER AND HIS FRIEND. 

A poor wayfaring man of grief 

Hath often cross' d me on my way, 
Who sued so humbly for relief, 

That I could never answer, ' ' Nay. ' ' 
I had not power to ask his name, 
Whither he went, or whence he came, 
Yet there was something in his eye 
That won my love, I knew not why. 

Once, when my scanty meal was spread, 
He entered ; not a word he spake ; 

Just perishing for want of bread ; 
I gave him all ; he bless' d it, brake, 

And ate ; but gave me part again ; 

Mine was an angel's portion then ; 

For, while I fed with eager haste, 

That crust was manna to my taste. 

I spied him, where a fountain burst 

Clear from the rock ; his strength was gone 

The heedless water mock'd his thirst, 
He heard it, saw it hurrying on : 



lpoems for tTbe IRfng's 2)augbters 55 

I ran to raise the sufferer up ; 

Thrice from the stream he drain' d my cup, 

Dipt, and return'd it running o'er ; 

I drank, and never thirsted more. 

'T was night ; the floods were out ; it blew 

A winter hurricane aloof ; 
I heard his voice abroad, and flew 

To bid him welcome to my roof ; 
I warm'd, I clothed, I cheer' d my guest, 
L,aid him on my own couch to rest ; 
Then made the hearth my bed, and seem'd 
In Eden's garden while I dream' d. 

Stript, wounded, beaten, nigh' to death, 

I found him by the highway-side : 
I roused his pulse, brought back his breath, 

Revived his spirit, and supplied 
Wine, oil, refreshment ; he was heal'd : 
I had myself a wound conceal' d ; 
But from that hour forgot the smart, 
And peace bound up nty broken heart. 

In prison I saw him next, condemn' d 

To meet a traitor's doom at morn : 
The tide of lying tongues I stemm'd 

And honor' d him 'midst shame and scorn ; 
My friendship's utmost zeal to try, 
He ask'd if I for him would die ; 
The flesh was weak, my blood ran chill ; 
But the free spirit cried, ' ' I will. ' ' 



56 Sunsbfne in Xife 

Then in a moment to my view 

The Stranger darted from disguise ; 
The tokens in His hands I knew, 

My Saviour stood before mine eyes ! 
He spake ; and my poor name He named : 

' ' Of Me thou hast not been ashamed ; 
These deeds shall thy memorial be ; 

Fear not ; thou didst them unto Me. ' ' 

SONGS OF PRAISE THE ANGELS SANG. 

Songs of praise the angels sang, 
Heaven with hallelujahs rang, 
When Jehovah's work begun, 
When He spake and it was done. 

Songs of praise awoke the morn, 
When the Prince of Peace was born ; 
Songs of praise arose when He 
Captive led captivity. 

Heaven and earth must pass away, 
Songs of praise shall crown that day ; 
God will make new heavens, new earth, 
Songs of praise shall hail their birth. 

And can man alone be dumb, 
Till that glorious kingdom come ? 
No ; the church delights to raise 
Psalms and hymns and songs of praise. 



fl>oems for XLbe Iking's Daughters 57 

Saints below, with heart and voice, 
Still in songs of praise rejoice, 
Learning here, by faith and love, 
Songs of praise to sing above. 

Borne upon their latest breath, 
Songs of praise shall conquer death ; 
Then, amidst eternal joy, 
Songs of praise their powers employ. 



Samuel Uaplor Golerfoge. 

1 772-1 834. 

FROM "HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE IN THE VALE 
OF CHAMOUNI." 

Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts ! 
Who made you glorious as the gates of Heaven 
Beneath the keen full moon ? Who bade the sun 
Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living 

flowers 
Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet ? — 
God ! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, 
Answer ! and let the ice-plains echo, God ! 
God ! sing ye meadow streams with gladsome 

voice ! 
Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like 

sounds ! 
And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow, 
And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God ! 



58 , Sunsbine in Xifc 

Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost ! 
Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest ! 
Ye eagles, play-mates of the mountain-storm ! 
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds ! 
Ye signs and wonders of the elements, 
Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise ! 

Thou too, hoar Mount ! with thy sky-pointing 

peaks, 
Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, 
Shoots downward, glittering through the pure 

serene, 
Into the depth of clouds, that veil thy breast, — 
Thou too again, stupendous Mountain ! thou 
That as I raise my head, awhile bowed low 
In adoration, upward from thy base 
Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears, 
Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud 
To rise before me — Rise, O, ever rise, 
Rise like a cloud of incense, from the Earth ! 
Thou kingly Spirit throned among the hills, 
Thou dread ambassador from Earth to Heaven, 
Great hierarch ! tell thou the silent sky, 
And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun, 
Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God. 



poems for Zbc Iftfng's Baugbters 59 

ANSWER TO A CHILD'S QUESTION. 

Do you ask what the birds say ? The sparrow, 

the dove, 
The linnet, and thrush say, ' ' I love, and I love ! ' ' 
In the winter they 're silent, the wind is so 

strong ; 
What it says, I don't know, but it sings a loud 

song. 
But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny warm 

weather, 
And singing and loving — all come back together. 
But the lark is so brimful of gladness and love, 
The green fields below him, the blue sky above, 
That he sings, and he sings, and forever sings he, 
' ' I love my Dove, and my Dove loves me ! ' ' 



Ubomas flfooore. 

1779-1852. 

THOU ART, O GOD ! 

Thou art, O God ! the life and light 
Of all this wondrous world we see ; 

Its glow by day, its smile by night, 
Are but reflections caught from Thee. 

Where'er we turn, Thy glories shine, 

And all things fair and bright are Thine. 



60 Sunsbfne in %iie 

When day, with farewell beam, delays 
Among the opening clouds of even, 

And we can almost think we gaze 
Through golden vistas into heaven, — 

Those hues that make the sun's decline 

So soft, so radiant, Lord ! are Thine. 

When night, with wings of starry gloom, 
O'ershadows all the earth and skies, 

Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume 
Is sparkling with unnumbered eyes, — 

That sacred gloom, those fires divine, 

So grand, so countless, Lord ! are Thine. 

When youthful spring around us breathes, 
Thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh ; 

And every flower the summer wreathes 
Is born beneath that kindling eye. 

Where'er we turn, Thy glories shine, 

And all things fair and bright are Thine. 

O THOU WHO DRY'ST THE MOURNER'S TEAR ! 

O Thou who dry'st the mourner's tear ! 

How dark this world would be, 
If, when deceived and wounded here, 

We could not fly to Thee. 
The friends who in our sunshine live, 

When winter comes, are flown ; 
And he who has but tears to give 

Must weep those tears alone. 



poems for Zbe Ifttng's 2>augbter6 61 

But Thou wilt heal that broken heart 
Which, like the plants that throw 

Their fragrance from the wounded part, 
Breathes sweetness out of woe. 

When joy no longer soothes or cheers, 

And e'en the hope that threw 
A moment's sparkle o'er our tears 

Is dimmed and vanished too, 
Oh ! who would bear life's stormy doom, 

Did not Thy wing of love 
Come, brightly wafting through the gloom 

Our peace-branch from above ? 
Then sorrow, touched by Thee, grows bright 

With more than rapture's ray ; 
As darkness shows us worlds of light 

We never saw by day ! 

ALAS! HOW LIGHT A CAUSE MAY MOVE. 
From " Lalla Rookh." 

Alas ! how light a cause may move 

Dissension between hearts that love ! 

Hearts that the world in vain had tried ; 

And sorrow but more closely tied ; 

That stood the storm when waves were rough, 

Yet in a sunny hour fall off, 

Like ships that have gone down at sea, 

When heaven was all tranquillity ! 



62 Sunsbine in Xife 

A something light as air, — a look, 

A word unkind or wrongly taken, — 
Oh ! love that tempests never shook, 

A breath, a touch like this hath shaken ! 
And ruder words will soon rush in 
To spread the breach that words begin ; 
And eyes forget the gentle ray 
They wore in courtship's smiling day ; 
And voices lose their tone that shed 
A tenderness round all they said ; 
Till fast declining, one by one, 
The sweetnesses of love are gone, 
And hearts, so lately mingled, seem 
Iyike broken clouds, — or like the stream, 
That smiling left the mountain's brow, 

As though its waters ne'er could sever, 
Yet, ere it reach the plain below, 

Breaks into floods that part forever. 

O you, that have the charge of L,ove, 

Keep him in rosy bondage bound, 
As in the fields of bliss above 

He sits, with flowerets fettered round ; — 
Loose not a tie that round him clings, 
Nor ever let him lose his wings ; 
For even an hour, a minute's flight 
Will rob the plumes of half their light. 
Like that celestial bird, — whose nest 

Is found beneath far eastern skies, — 
Whose wings, though radiant when at rest,- 

Iyose all their glory when he flies ! 



poems for Gbe Iking's ^Daughters 63 

Iborace Smitb. 

1 779- 1 849. 

HYMN TO THE FLOWERS. 

Day-stars ! that ope your frownless eyes to twinkle 

From rainbow galaxies of earth's creation, 
And dew-drops on her lonely altars sprinkle 
As a libation ! 

Ye matin worshippers ! who bending lowly 

Before the uprisen sun — God's lidless eye — 
Throw from your chalices a sweet and holy 
Incense on high ! 

Ye bright mosaics ! that with storied beauty 
The floor of Nature's temple tessellate, — 
What numerous emblems of instructive duty 
Your forms create ! 

'Neath cloister' d boughs, each floral bell that 
swingeth 
And tolls its perfume on the passing air, 
Makes Sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth 
A call to prayer. 

Not to the domes where crumbling arch and 
column 
Attest the feebleness of mortal hand, 
But to that fane, most catholic and solemn, 
Which God hath plann'd ; 



64 Sunsbine in %lte 

To that cathedral, boundless as our wonder, 
Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon 
supply — 
Its choir the winds and waves, its organ thunder, 
Its dome the sky. 



There — as in solitude and shade I wander 

Through the green aisles, or, stretch 'd upon 
the sod, 
Awed by the silence, reverently ponder 
The ways of God — 



Your voiceless lips, O flowers, are living preachers, 

Bach cup a pulpit, every leaf a book, 
Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers 
From loneliest nook. 



Floral apostles ! that in dewy splendor 

' ' Weep without woe, and blush without a 
crime," 
Oh, may I deeply learn, and ne'er surrender, 
Your lore sublime ! 



' ' Thou wert not Solomon ! in all thy glory, 

Array' d," the lilies cry, "in robes like ours ; 
How vain your grandeur ! ah, how transitory 
Are human flowers ! ' ' 



lpoems tor Zhc Ifting's ©augbters 65 

In the sweet-scented pictures, Heavenly Artist ! 
With which thou paintest Nature's widespread 
hall, 
What a delightful lesson thou impartest 
Of love to all! 



Not useless are ye, flowers ! though made for 
pleasure ; 
Blooming o'er field and wave, by day and 
night, 
From every source your sanction bids me treasure 
Harmless delight. 

Ephemeral sages ! what instructors hoary 

For such a world of thought could furnish 
scope ? 
Bach fading calyx a memento mori, 
Yet font of hope. 

Posthumous glories ! angel-like collection ! 

Upraised from seed or bulb interr'd in earth, 
Ye are to me a type of resurrection, 
And second birth. 

Were I in churchless solitudes remaining, 

Far from all voice of teachers and divines, 
My soul would find, in flowers of God's ordaining, 
Priests, sermons, shrines ! 



66 Sunsbfne in %itc 

Bernard Barton* 

i 784- i 849. 

THERE BE THOSE. 

There be those who sow beside 
The waters that in silence glide, 
Trusting no echo will declare 
Whose footsteps ever wandered there. 

The noiseless footsteps pass away, 
The stream flows on as yesterday ; 
Nor can it for a time be seen 
A benefactor there had been. 

Yet think not that the seed is dead 
Which in the lonely place is spread ; 
It lives, it lives — the spring is nigh, 
And soon its life shall testify. 

That silent stream, that desert ground, 
No more unlovely shall be found ; 
But scattered flowers of simplest grace 
Shall spread their beauty round the place. 

And soon or late a time will come 
When witnesses, that now are dumb, 
With grateful eloquence shall tell 
From whom the seed, there scattered, fell. 



fl>oems for £be Ifcmg's IDaugbters 67 

Barnes 1foenr£ Xeiab Ifount. 

(IvEigh Hunt.) 
1 784-1859. 

AN ANGEL IN THE HOUSE. 

How sweet it were, if without feeble fright, 

Or dying of the dreadful beauteous sight, 

An angel came to us, and we could bear 

To see him issue from the silent air 

At evening in our room, and bend on ours 

His divine eyes, and bring us from his bowers 

News of dear friends, and children who have 

never 
Been dead indeed, — as we shall know forever. 
Alas ! we think not what we daily see 
About our hearths, angels, that are to be, 
Or may be if they will, and we prepare 
Their souls and ours to meet in happy air, — 
A child, a friend, a wife whose soft heart sings 
In unison with ours, breeding its future wings. 

ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE ANGEL. 

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase !) 
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, 
And saw within the moonlight in his room, 
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, 
An angel, writing in a book of gold ; 
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, 
And to the presence in the room he said, 
' ' What writest thou ? ' ' The vision raised its head, 



68 Sunsbfne in Xifc 

And with a look made of all sweet accord, 
Answered, "The names of those who love the 

Lord." 
' ' And is mine one ? ' ' said Abou. ' ' Nay, not so, ' ' 
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, 
But cheerly still, and said : " I pray thee, then, 
Write me as one who loves his fellow-men." 
The angel wrote and vanished. The next night 
It came again, with a great wakening light, 
And showed the names whom love of God had 

blessed, 
And, lo ! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. 



Ibenr^ Ifcirfee Wbite. 

1785-1806. 

THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. 

When marshall'd on the nightly plain, 
The glittering host bestud the sky ; 

One star alone, of all the train, 

Can fix the sinner's wandering eye. 

Hark ! hark ! to God the chorus breaks, 
From every host, from every gem ; 

But one alone the Saviour speaks, 
It is the Star of Bethlehem. 

Once on the raging seas I rode, 

The storm was loud — the night was dark, 
The ocean yawn'd — and rudely blow'd 

The wind that toss'd my foundering bark. 



poems for XLbe IRing's 2>augbtevs * 69 

Deep horror then my vitals froze, 

Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem ; 

When suddenly a star arose, 
It was the Star of Bethlehem. 

It was my guide, my light, my all, 
It bade my dark forebodings cease ; 

And through the storm and dangers' thrall 
It led me to the port of peace. 

Now safely moor'd — my perils o'er, 
I '11 sing, first in night's diadem, 

For ever and for evermore, 
The Star— the Star of Bethlehem ! 

TO AN EARLY PRIMROSE. 

Mild offspring of a dark and sullen sire ! 
Whose modest form, so delicately fine, 
Was nursed in whirling storms, 
And cradled in the winds. 

Thee, when young spring first questioned win- 
ter's sway, 
And dared the sturdy blusterer to the fight, 
Thee on this bank he threw 
To mark his victory. 

In this low vale, the promise of the year, 
Serene, thou openest to the nipping gale, 
Unnoticed and alone, 
Thy tender elegance. 



7o Sunabine in Xife 

So virtue blooms, brought forth amid the storms 
Of chill adversity ; in some lone walk 
Of life she rears her head, 
Obscure and unobserved ; 

While every bleaching breeze that on her blows 
Chastens her spotless purity of breast, 
And hardens her to bear 
Serene the ills of life. 



3o\m Wilson, 

(Christopher North.) 
1 785-1854. 

THE EVENING CLOUD. 

A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun, 
A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow : 
Lc>ng had it watched the glory moving on 
O'er the still radiance of the lake below. 
Tranquil its spirit seemed, and floated slow ! 
Even in its very motion there was rest ; 
While every breath of eve that chanced to blow 
Wafted the traveller to the beauteous west. 
Emblem, methought, of the departed soul, 
To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given ; 
And by the breath of mercy made to roll 
Right onwards to the golden gates of heaven, 
Where to the eye of faith it peaceful lies, 
And tells to man his glorious destinies. 



poem0 for Zhc IRing's Daughters 71 



Caroline Bnne Bowles Soutbep. 

1787-1854. 

THE MARINER'S HYMN. 

launch thy bark, mariner ! 
Christian, God speed thee ! 
I,et loose the rudder-bands, — 
Good angels lead thee ! 
Set thy sails warily, 
Tempests will come ; 
Steer thy course steadily : 
Christian, steer home ! 

I^ook to the weather-bow ; 
Breakers are round thee ; 
L,et fall the plummet now, 
Shallows may ground thee. 
Reef in the foresail, there ! 
Hold the helm fast ! 
So — let the vessel wear — 
There swept the blast. 

What of the night, watchman ? 

What of the night ? 

' ' Cloudy — all quiet — 

No land yet — all 's right." 

Be wakeful, be vigilant, — 

Danger may be 

At an hour when all seemeth 

Securest to thee. 



72 Sunsbine in Xife 

How ! gains the leak so fast ? 
Clean out the hold, — 
Hoist up thy merchandise, 
Heave out thy gold ; 
There — let the ingots go — 
Now the ship rights ; 
Hurrah ! the harbor 's near — 
IvO ! the red lights ! 

Slacken not sail yet, 
At inlet or island ; 
Straight for the beacon steer, 
Straight for the highland ; 
Crowd all thy canvas on, 
Cut through the foam : 
Christian ! cast anchor now, — 
Heaven is thy home ! 



3Brsan Mallet Procter* 

(Barry Cornwall.) 
I 787-1874. 

THE PEARL-WEARER. 

Within the midnight of her hair, 
Half hidden in its deepest deeps, 
A single peerless, priceless pearl, 
All filmy-eyed, for ever sleeps. 
Without the diamond's sparkling eyes, 



poems for TZhe Ifctng's ©augbters 73 

The ruby's blushes, — there it lies ! 

Modest as the tender dawn, 

When her purple veil 's withdrawn, — 

The flower of gems, — a lily, cold and pale ! 

Yet, what doth all avail ? 

All its beauty, all its grace ! 

All the honors of its place ? 

He who pluck' d it from its bed, 

In the far blue Indian Ocean, 

Iyieth, without life or motion, 

In his earthly dwelling, — dead ! 

And his children, one by one, 

When they look upon the sun, 

Curse the toil by which he drew 

The treasure from its bed of blue. 

Gentle bride, no longer wear 
In thy night-black odorous hair 
Such a spoil ! It is not fit 
That a tender soul should sit 
Under such accursed gem. 
What needst thou, a diadem ? — 
Thou, within whose Eastern eyes 
Thought (a starry genius) lies ? — 
Thou, whom beauty has array 'd ! — 
Thou, whom love and truth hath made 
Beautiful ? in whom we trace 
Woman's softness, angel's grace, — 
All we hope for, all that streams 
Upon us in our haunted dreams ! 



74 Sunsbine in Xifc 

O sweet Lady ! cast aside, 
With a gentle, noble pride, 
All to sin or pain allied. 
Let the wild-eyed conqueror wear 
The bloody laurel in his hair ; 

Let the slave-begotten gold 
Weigh on bosoms hard and cold ; 
But be thou for ever known 
By thy natural light alone ! 



Ocovqc (Borfcon IRoel Bpron. 

(I<ord Byron.) 
1 788-1824. 

THE LAKE OF GENEVA. 
From " Childe Harold's Pilgrimage," Canto III. 

Clear, placid Leman ! thy contrasted lake, 
With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing 
Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake 
Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring. 
This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing 
To waft me from distraction ; once I loved 
Torn ocean's roar, but thy soft murmuring 
Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved, 
That I with stern delights should e'er have been 
so moved. 



poeme for Zhc IRing's Daughters 75 

It is the hush of night, and all between 
Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, 
Mellowed and mingling, yet distinctly seen, 
Save darkened Jura, whose capt heights appear 
Precipitously steep ; and drawing near, 
There breathes a living fragrance from the shore, 
Of flowers yet fresh with childhood ; on the ear 
Drops the light drip of the suspended oar, 
Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol 
more : 

He is an evening reveller, who makes 
His life an infancy, and sings his fill ; 
At intervals, some bird from out the brakes 
Starts into voice a moment, then is still. 
There seems a floating whisper on the hill, 
But that is fancy, for the starlight dews 
All silently their tears of love instil, 
Weeping themselves away, till they infuse 
Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues. 



Gbarlotte Elliott 

1789-1871. 

FROM "SUNDAY EVENING." 

The Sabbath day has reached its close ; 
Yet, Saviour, ere I seek repose, 
Grant me the peace Thy love bestows : 
Smile on my evening hour ! 



76 Sunsbine in %ifc 

O heavenly Comforter, sweet guest ! 
Hallow and calm my troubled breast ; 
Weary I come to Thee for rest : 
Smile on my evening hour ! 

If ever I have found it sweet 
To worship at my Saviour's feet, 
Now to my soul that bliss repeat : 
Smile on my evening hour ! 



William Iknoj, 

1789-1825. 

O, WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF MORTAL BE 
PROUD? 

O, why should the spirit of mortal be proud ? 
Tike a fast-flitting meteor, a fast-fiying cloud, 
A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave, 
He passeth from life to his rest in the grave. 

The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade, 

Be scattered around and together be laid ; 

And the young and the old, and the low and the 

high, 
Shall moulder to dust and together shall lie. 

The child that a mother attended and loved, 
The mother that infant's affection who proved, 



fl>oems for Gbe IRfng's 5>augbters 77 

The husband that mother and infant who 

blessed, — 
Each, all, are away to their dwellings of rest. 

The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in 

whose eye, 
Shone beauty and pleasure — her triumphs are 

by; 
And the memory of those who have loved her 

and praised, 
Are alike from the minds of the living erased. 

The hand of the king that the sceptre hath 

borne, 
The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn, 
The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave, 
Are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave. 

The peasant whose lot was to sow and to reap, 
The herdsman who climbed with his goats to the 

steep, 
The beggar who wandered in search of his bread, 
Have faded away like the grass that we tread. 

The saint who enjoyed the communion of heaven, 
The sinner who dared to remain unforgiven, 
The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just, 
Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust. 



78 Sunsbfne in %ifc 

So the multitude goes, like the flower and the 

weed, 
That wither away to let others succeed ; 
So the multitude comes, even those we behold, 
To repeat every tale that hath often been told. 

For we are the same things our fathers have 

been ; 
We see the same sights that our fathers have 

seen, — 
We drink the same stream, and we feel the same 

sun, 
And run the same course that our fathers have 

run. 

The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would 

think ; 
From the death we are shrinking from, they too 

would shrink ; 
To the life we are clinging to, they too would 

cling ; 
But it speeds from the earth like a bird on the 

wing. 

They loved, but their story we cannot unfold ; 
They scorned, but the heart of the haughty is 

cold ; 
They grieved, but no wail from their slumbers 

will come ; 
They joyed, but the voice of their gladness is 

dumb. 



Ipoems for £be lying's IDaugbters 79 

They died, — ay ! they died ; and we things that 

are now, 
Who walk on the turf that lies over their brow, 
Who make in their dwellings a transient abode, 
Meet the changes they met on their pilgrimage 

road. 

Yea, hope and despondence, and pleasure and 

pain, 
Are mingled together in sunshine and rain ; 
And the smile and the tear, the song and the 

dirge, 
Still follow each other, like surge upon surge. 

'T is the twink of an eye, 't is the draught of a 

breath, 
From the blossom of health to the paleness of 

death, 
From the gilded saloon, to the bier and the 

shroud, — 
O, why should the spirit of mortal be proud ? 



IHnftnown. 

"THEY 'RE DEAR FISH TO ME." 

The farmer's wife sat at the door, 

A pleasant sight to see ; 
And blithesome were the wee, wee bairns 

That play'd around her knee. 



80 Sunsbine in %ite 

When, bending 'neath her heavy creel, 

A poor fish-wife came by, 
And, turning from the toilsome road, 

Unto the door drew nigh. 

She laid her burden on the green, 

And spread its scaly store ; 
With trembling hands and pleading words, 

She told them o'efl? and o'er. 

But lightly laugh' d the young guidwife : 
" We 're no sae scarce o' cheer ; 

Tak' up your creel, and gang your ways, — 
I '11 buy nae fish sae dear." 

Bending beneath her load again, 

A weary sight to see, 
Right sorely sigh'd the poor fish- wife : 

" They 're dear fish to me ! 

' ' Our boat was oot ae fearfu' night, 
And when the storm blew o'er, 

My husband, and my three brave sons, 
Lay corpses on the shore. 

" I 've been a wife for thirty years, 

A childless widow three ; 
I maun buy them now to sell again, — 

They 're dear fish to me ! " 



poems fot Vfoc Iking's Daughters 81 

The farmer's wife turn'd to the door, — 

What was 't upon her cheek ? 
What was there rising in her breast, 

That then she scarce could speak ? 

She thought upon her ain guidman, 

Her lightsome laddies three ; 
The woman's words had pierced her heart, — 

" They 're dear fish to me ! " 

1 ' Come back, ' ' she cried, with quivering voice 

And pity's gathering tear ; 
" Come in, come in, my poor woman, 

Ye 're kindly welcome here. 

" I kentna o' your aching heart, 

Your weary lot to dree ; 
I '11 ne'er forget your sad, sad words : 

' They 're dear fish tome!'" 

Ay, let the happy-hearted learn 

To pause ere they deny 
The meed of honest toil, and think 

How much their gold may buy, — 

How much of manhood's wasted strength, 

What woman's misery, — 
What breaking hearts might swell the cry : 

" They 're dear fish to me ! " 



82 Sunsbine in life 

5obn Ifteble, 

i 792- i 866. 

EVENING. 

'T is gone, that bright and orbed blaze, 
Fast fading from our wistful gaze ; 
Yon mantling cloud has hid from sight 
The last faint pulse of quivering light. 

In darkness and in weariness 
The traveller on his way must press ; 
No gleam to watch on tree or tower, 
Whiling away the lonesome hour. 

Sun of my soul, Thou Saviour dear, 
It is not night if Thou be near ; 
Oh, may no earth-born cloud arise 
To hide Thee from Thy servant's eyes. 

When round Thy wondrous works below 
My searching, rapturous glance I throw, 
Tracing out wisdom, power, and love, 
In earth or sky, in stream or grove ; — 

Or by the light Thy words disclose 
Watch Time's full river as it flows, 
Scanning Thy gracious providence, 
Where not too deep for mortal sense ; — 

When with dear friends sweet talk I hold, 
And all the flowers of life unfold, 



Ipoems for Zbe Iftfng's 2>augbters 83 

Let not my heart within me burn, 
Except in all I Thee discern. 

When the soft dews of kindly sleep 
My wearied eyelids gently steep, 
Be my last thought, how sweet to rest 
Forever on my Saviour's breast. 

Abide with me from morn till eve, 
For without Thee I cannot live : 
Abide with me when night is nigh, 
For without Thee I dare not die. 

Thou Framer of the light and dark, 
Steer through the tempest Thine own ark : 
Amid the howling wintry sea 
We are in port if we have Thee. 

The rulers of this Christian land, 
'Twixt Thee and us ordained to stand, 
Guide Thou their course, O Lord, aright ; 
Let all do all as in Thy sight. 

Oh, by Thine own sad burthen, borne 
So meekly up the hill of scorn, 
Teach Thou Thy priests their daily cross 
To bear as Thine, nor count it loss ! 

If some poor wandering child of Thine 
Have spurned to-day the voice divine, 
Now, Lord, the gracious work begin, 
Let him no more lie down in sin. 



84 Sunsbtne In Xife 

Watch by the sick ; enrich the poor 
With blessings from Thy boundless store ; 
Be every mourner's sleep to-night 
L,ike infant slumbers, pure and light. 

Come near and bless us when we wake, 
Ere through the world our way we take ; 
Till in the ocean of Thy love 
We lose ourselves in heaven above. 

FRAGMENT. 

There are in this loud stunning tide 
Of human care and crime, 
With whom the melodies abide 
Of the everlasting chime ; 
Who carry music in their heart 
Through dusky lane and wrangling mart, 
Plying their daily toil with busier feet, 
Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat. 



Sir 5obn Bowring. 

i 792-1872. 

HYMN. 

Father, Thy paternal care 

Has my guardian been, my guide. 
Every hallowed wish and prayer 

Has Thy hand of love supplied. 
Thine is every thought of bliss — 

Iyeft by hours and days gone by ; 



poems for Zbc Ifcing's 2>augbters 85 

Every hope Thy offspring is, 
Beaming from futurity. 

Every sun of splendid ray ; 

Every moon that shines serene ; 
Every morn that welcomes day ; 

Every evening's twilight scene ; 
Every hour which wisdom brings ; 

Every incense at Thy shrine ; — 
These, and all life's holiest things, 

And its fairest, all are Thine. 

And for all, my hymns shall rise 

Daily to Thy gracious throne ; 
Thither let my asking eyes 

Turn unwearied, righteous One ! 
Through life's strange vicissitude, 

There reposing all my care ; 
Trusting still, through ill and good, 

Fixed, and cheered, and counselled there. 



1benr£ Francis %£te. 

1 793-1847. 

LONG DID I TOIL. 

Dong did I toil, and knew no earthly rest , 
Far did I rove, and found no certain home ; 

At last I sought them in His sheltering breast, 
Who opes His arms, and bids the weary come 



86 Sunabme in Xffe 

With Him I found a home, a rest divine ; 
And I since then am His, and He is mine. 

Yes ! He is mine ! and naught of earthly things, 
Not all the charms of pleasure, wealth, or 
power, 

The fame of heroes, or the pomp of kings, 
Could tempt me to forego His love an hour. 

Go, worthless world, I cry, with all that 's~ thine ! 

Go, I my Saviour's am, and He is mine. 

The good I have is from His stores supplied ; 

The ill is only what He deems the best ; 
He for my Friend, I 'm rich with naught be- 
side ; 

And poor without Him, though of all possest : 
Changes may come ; I take, or I resign ; 
Content, while I am His, while He is mine. 

Whate'er may change, in Him no change is 
seen ; 

A glorious Sun, that wanes not nor declines ; 
Above the clouds and storms He walks serene, 

And sweetly on His people's darkness shines : 
All may depart ; I fret not, nor repine, 

While I my Saviour's am, while He is mine. 

He stays me falling, lifts me up when down, 
Reclaims me wandering, guards from every 
foe ; 



poems for Gbe Ifcfng's Daughters 87 

Plants on my worthless brow the victor's crown ; 

Which, in return, before His feet I throw, 
Grieved that I cannot better grace His shrine, 
Who deigns to own me His, as He is mine. 

While here, alas ! I know but half His love, 
But half discern Him, and but half adore ; 

But when I meet Him in the realms above, 
I hope to love Him better, praise Him more, 

And feel and tell, amid the choir divine, 

How fully I am His, and He is mine. 



ABIDE WITH ME. 

Abide with me : fast falls the even-tide ; 
The darkness deepens ; I<ord, with me, abide ! 
When other helpers fail, and comforts flee, 
Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me ! 

Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day ; 
Earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away : 
Change and decay in all around I see ; 
O Thou, who changest not, abide with me ! 

Not a brief glance I beg, a passing word ; 
But as Thou dwell' st with Thy disciples, Lord, 
Familiar, condescending, patient, free, 
Come, not to sojourn, but abide with me. 



Sunsbfne in Xife 



Come not in terrors, as the King of kings ; 
But kind and good, with healing in Thy wings, 
Tears for all woes, a heart for every plea ; 
Come, Friend of sinners, and thus abide with me. 

Thou on my head in early youth didst smile, 
And, though rebellious and perverse meanwhile, 
Thou hast not left me, oft as I left thee. 
On to the close, O I,ord, abide with me ! 

I need Thy presence every passing hour : 

What but Thy grace can foil the tempter's 

power ? 
Who like Thyself my guide and stay can be ? 
Thro' cloud and sunshine, oh, abide with me ! 

I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless ; 
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness : 
Where is death's sting ? where, grave, thy 

victory ? 
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me. 

Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes : 
Shine through the gloom, and point me to the 

skies ; 
Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain 

shadows flee : 
In life and death, O Lord, abide with me ! 



lpoems for Gbe IRtng's Baugbtevs 

William JBeattie. 

1793-1875. 

FROM "EVENING HYMN OF THE ALPINE 
SHEPHERDS." 

Brothers, the day declines ; 

Above, the glacier brightens ; 
Through hills of waving pines 

The ' ' vesper halo ' ' lightens ! 
Now wake the welcome chorus 

To Him our sires adored ; 
To Him who watcheth o'er us, — 

Ye shepherds, praise the Lord ! 

From each tower's embattled crest 

The vesper-bell has toll' d ; 
'T is the hour that bringeth rest 

To the shepherd and his fold : 
From hamlet, rock, and chalet 

Let our evening song be pour'd ; 
Till mountain, rock, and valley 

Re-echo, — Praise the Lord ! 

Praise the Lord, who made and gave us 

Our glorious mountain-land ! 
Who deign' d to shield and save us 

From the despot's iron hand : 
With the bread of life He feeds us ; 

Enlighten' d by His word, 
Through pastures green He leads us, — 

Ye shepherds, praise the Lord ! 



90 Sunsbfne in %itc 

jfelicia Dorotbea Remans. 

1793-1835. 

KINDRED HEARTS. 

1 

O, ask not, hope thou not, too much 

Of sympathy below ; 
Few are the hearts whence one same touch 

Bids the sweet fountains flow : 
Few — and by still conflicting powers 

Forbidden here to meet — 
Such ties would make this life of ours 

Too fair for aught so fleet. 

It may be that thy brother's eye 

Sees not as thine, which turns 
In such deep reverence to the sky 

Where the rich sunset burns ; 
It may be that the breath of spring, 

Born amidst violets lone, 
A rapture o'er thy soul can bring, — 

A dream to his unknown. 

The tune that speaks of other times, — 

A sorrowful delight ! 
The melody of distant chimes, 

The sound of waves by night ; 
The wind that, with so many a tone, 

Some chord within can thrill, — 
These may have language all thine own, 

To him a mystery still. 



poems for Gbe IKing's Daughters 91 

Yet scorn thou not for this the true 

And steadfast love of years ; 
The kindly, that from childhood grew, 

The faithful to thy tears ! 
If there be one that o'er the dead 

Hath in thy grief borne part, 
And watched through sickness by thy bed, 

Call his a kindred heart ! 

But for those bonds all perfect made, 

Wherein bright spirits blend, 
Like sister flowers of one sweet shade 

With the same breeze that bend, 
For that full bliss of thought allied, 

Never to mortals given, 
O, lay thy lovely dreams aside, 

Or lift them unto heaven ! 

THE HOUR OF PRAYER. 

Child, amidst the flowers at play, 
While the red light fades away : 
Mother, with thine earnest eye 
Ever following silently : 
Father, by the breeze of eve 
Call'd thy harvest- work to leave, — 
Pray ! ere yet the dark hours be, 
Iyift the heart, and bend the knee. 

Traveller in the stranger's land, 
Far from thine own household band : 



92 Sunsbine in Xife 

Mourner, haunted by the tone 
Of a voice from this world gone : 
Captive, in whose narrow cell 
Sunshine hath not leave to dwell : 
Sailor, on the darkening sea, 
Iyift the heart and bend the knee. 

Warrior, that from battle won 
Breathest now at set of sun ; 
Woman, o'er the lowly slain, 
Weeping on his burial-plain : 
Ye that triumph, ye that sigh, 
Kindred by one holy tie, 
Heaven's first star alike ye see, 
I/ift the heart and bend the knee. 

LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS. 

The breaking waves dashed high, 
On a stern and rock-bound coast, 

And the woods against a stormy sky 
Their giant branches tossed. 

And the heavy night hung dark 

The hills and waters o'er, 
When a band of exiles moored their bark 

On the wild New England shore. 

Not as the conqueror comes, 
They, the true-hearted, came ; 



fl>oems for Zbc IRfng's Daugbters 93 

Not with the roll of the stirring drums, 
And the trumpet that sings of fame. 

Not as the flying come, 

In silence and in fear ; 
They shook the depths of the desert gloom 

With their hymns of lofty cheer. 

Amidst the storm they sang, 
And the stars heard, and the sea ; 

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang 
To the anthem of the free. 

The ocean eagle soared 

From his nest by the white wave's foam ; 
And the rocking pines of the forest roared — 

This was their welcome home ! 

There were men with hoary hair 

Amidst that pilgrim band : — 
Why had they come to wither there, 

Away from their childhood's land ? 

There was woman's fearless eye, 

Lit by her deep love's truth ; 
There was manhood's brow serenely high, 

And the fiery heart of youth. 

What sought they thus afar ? 

Bright jewels of the mine ? 
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war ? — 

They sought a faith's pure shrine ! 



94 Sunsbfne in %ifc 

Ay, call it holy ground, 

The soil where first they trod ; 

They left unstained what there they found- 
Freedom to worship God. 



XCbomas Garble. 

1795-1881. 

TO-DAY. 

So here hath been dawning 
Another blue day ; 

Think wilt thou let it 
Slip useless away. 

Out of eternity 

This new day is born ; 
Into eternity 

At night will return. 

Behold it aforetime 

No eye ever did ; 
So soon it forever 

From all eyes is hid. 

Here hath been dawning 
Another blue day ; 

Think wilt thou let it 
Slip useless away. 



poems for Zhe Uting's Daughters 95 

$obn ikeats. 

1 795-1821. 

NATURE'S DELIGHTS. 
From " I Stood Tiptoe Upon a Little Hill." 

O maker of sweet poets ! dear delight 
Of" this fair world and all its gentle livers ; 
Spangler of clouds, halo of crystal rivers, 
Mingler with leaves, and dew, and tumbling 

streams ; 
Closer of lovely eyes to lovely dreams ; 
Lover of loneliness and wandering, 
Of up-cast eye and tender pondering ! — 
Thee must I praise above all other glories 
That smile on us to tell delightful stories ; 
For what has made the sage or poet write, 
But the fair paradise of Nature's light ? 
In the calm grandeur of a sober line 
We see the waving of the mountain pine ; 
And when a tale is beautifully staid, 
We feel the safety of a hawthorn glade ; 
When it is moving on luxurious wings, 
The soul is lost in pleasant smotherings ; 
Fair dewy roses brush against our faces, 
And flowering laurels spring from diamond vases ; 
O'erhead we see the jasmine and sweet-brier, 
And bloomy grapes laughing from green attire ; 
While at our feet the voice of crystal bubbles 



96 Sunsbfne in %ife 

Charms us at once away from all our troubles ; 
So that we feel uplifted from the world, 
Walking upon the white clouds wreathed and 
curled. 



Ifoartlq? Colerifccje. 

1796-1849. 

THE WORD OF GOD. 

In holy books we read how God hath spoken 
To holy men in many different ways ; 

But hath the present worked no sign nor token ? 
Is God quite silent in these latter days ? 

The word were but a blank, a hollow sound, 
If He that spake it were not speaking still ; 

If all the light and all the shade around 
Were aught but issues of Almighty Will. 

Sweet girl, believe that every bird that sings, 
And every flower that stars the elastic sod, 

And every thought the happy summer brings, 
To thy pure spirit is a word of God. 

PRAYER. 

Be not afraid to pray, — to pray is right. 
Pray, if thou canst, with hope ; but ever pray, 
Though hope be weak, or sick with long delay ; 
Pray in the darkness, if there be no light. 



Ipoems for £be IRtng's ©augbtere 97 

Far is the time remote from human sight 
When war and discord on the earth shall cease ; 
Yet every prayer for universal peace 
Avails the blessed time to expedite. 
Whate'er is good to wish, ask that of Heaven, 
Though it be what thou canst not hope to see : 
Pray to be perfect, though material leaven 
Forbid the spirit so on earth to be ; 
But if for any wish thou darest not pray 
Then pray to God to cast that wish away. 



Ubomas 1boo&. 

1 799- 1 845. 

RUTH. 

She stood breast high amid the corn, 
Clasped by the golden light of morn, 
Ljke the sweetheart of the sun, 
Who many a glowing kiss had won. 

On her cheek an autumn flush 
Deeply ripened ; — such a blush 
In the midst of brown was born, 
L,ike red poppies grown with corn. 

Round her eyes her tresses fell, — 
Which were blackest none could tell ; 
But long lashes veiled a light 
That had else been all too bright. 

7 



Suns bine in Xifc 



And her hat, with shady brim, 
Made her tressy forehead dim ; — 
Thus she stood amid the stooks, 
Praising God with sweetest looks. 

Sure, I said, Heaven did not mean, 
Where I reap thou shouldst but glean ; 
L,ay thy sheaf adown and come, 
Share my harvest and my home. 

THE LADY'S DREAM. 

The lady lay in her bed, 

Her couch so warm and soft, 

But her sleep was restless and broken still ; 

For, turning often and oft 

From side to side, she mutter' d and moan'd, 

And toss'd her arms aloft. 

At last she startled up, 

And gazed on the vacant air 

With a look of awe as if she saw 

Some dreadful phantom there — 

And then in the pillow she buried her face 

From visions ill to bear. 

The very curtain shook, 

Her terror was so extreme, 

And the light that fell on the broider'd quilt 

Kept a tremulous gleam ; 



poems for Zbe IRing's Daughters 99 

And her voice was hollow, and shook as she cried, 
' ' Oh me ! that awful dream ! 

' ' That weary, weary walk 

In the churchyard's dismal ground ! 

And those horrible things, with shady wings, 

That came and flitted round — 

Death, death, and nothing but death, 

In every sight and sound ! 

' ' And oh ! those maidens young 

Who wrought in that dreary room, 

With figures drooping and spectres thin, 

And cheeks without a bloom ; — 

And the voice that cried, ! For the pomp of pride 

We haste to an early tomb ! 

" ' For the pomp and pleasure of pride 
We toil like Afric slaves, 
And only to earn a home at last 
Where yonder cypress waves ' ; — 
And then it pointed — I never saw 
A ground so full of graves ! 

"And still the coffins came, 

With their sorrowful trains and slow ; 

Coffin after coffin still, 

A sad and sickening show ; 

From grief exempt, I never had dreamt 

Of such a world of woe ! 



Sunsbfne in Xife 



"Of the hearts that daily break, 

Of the tears that hourly fall, 

Of the many, many troubles of life, 

That grieve this earthly ball — 

Disease and hunger, and pain and want, 

But now I dream of them all ! 

" For the blind and crippled were there, 

And the babe that pined for bread, 

And the houseless man, and the widow poor, 

Who begg'd — to bury the dead ! 

The naked, alas ! that I might have clad, 

The famish 'd I might have fed ! 

" The sorrow I might have soothed, 

And the unregarded tears ; 

For many a thronging shape was there, 

From long-forgotten years, 

Ay, even the poor rejected Moor, 

Who raised my childish fears ! 

' ' Bach pleading look, that long ago 

I scann'd with heedless eye ; 

Bach face was gazing as plainly there, 

As when I pass'd it by ; 

Woe, woe for me if the past should be 

Thus present when I die ! 

' ' No need of sulphureous lake, 
No need of fiery coal, 



poems for Zbc Iftfng's IDaugbters ic 

But only that crowd of humankind 
Who wanted pity and dole — 
In everlasting retrospect — 
Will wring my sinful soul ! 

" Alas ! I have walk'd through life 

Too heedless where I trod ; 

Nay, helping to trample my fellow worm, 

And fill the burial sod — 

Forgetting that even the sparrow falls 

Not unmark'd of God ! 

" I drank the richest draughts, 

And ate whatever is good — 

Fish, and flesh, and fowl, and fruit, 

Supplied my hungry mood ; 

But I never remember' d the wretched ones 

That starve for want of food ! 

" I dress' d as the noble dress, 

In cloth of silver and gold, 

With silk, and satin, and costly furs, 

In many an ample fold ; 

But I never remember' d the naked limbs, 

That froze with winter's cold. 

"The wounds I might have heal'd ! 

The human sorrow and smart ! 

And yet it never was in my soul 

To play so ill a part : 

But evil is wrought by want of thought, 

As well as want of heart ! " 



Sunsbfne in %itc 



She clasp' d her fervent hands, 
And the tears began to stream ; 
Large, and bitter, and fast they fell, 
Remorse was so extreme ; 
And yet, oh yet, that many a dame 
Would dream the Toady's Dream ! 



/n>ar£ Ibowitt. 

i 799- 1 888. 
THE USE OF FLOWERS 

God might have bade the earth bring forth 

Enough for great and small, 
The oak tree and the cedar tree, 

Without a flower at all. 
We might have had enough, enough, 

For every want of ours, 
For luxury, medicine, and toil, 

And yet have had no flowers. 

Then wherefore, wherefore were they made, 

All dyed with rainbow-light, 
All fashion' d with supremest grace, 

Upspringing day and night : 
Springing in valleys green and low, 

And on the mountains high, 
And in the silent wilderness, 

Where no man passes by ? 



poems for ftbe IRtng's ©augbters 103 

Our outward life requires them not, — 

Then wherefore had they birth ? — 
To minister delight to man, 

To beautify the earth ; 
To comfort man, — to whisper hope, 

Whene'er his faith is dim, 
For Who so careth for the flowers 

Will care much more for him ! 



5obn 1foenr£ IRewman. 

1801-1890. 

THE PILLAR OF THE CLOUD. 

Lead, Kindly Light ! amid the encircling gloom, 

Lead Thou me on ; 
The night is dark, and I am far from home, 

Lead Thou me on ; 
Keep Thou my feet ; I do not ask to see 
The distant scene ; one step enough for me. 

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou 

Shouldst lead me on ; 
I loved to choose and see my path ; but now 

Lead Thou me on : 
I loved the garish day, and spite of fears, 
Pride ruled my will. Remember not past years. 



104 Sunsbine in Xife 

So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still 

Will lead me on, 
O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till 

The night is gone ; 
And with the morn those angel faces smile 
Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile. 



IKarl 5obann pbillpp Spttta. 

1801-1859. 

O HAPPY HOUSE! 

O happy house ! where Thou art loved the best, 

Dear Friend and Saviour of our race, 
Where never comes such welcome, honored Guest, 

Where none can ever fill thy place ; 
Where every heart goes forth to meet Thee, 

Where every ear attends Thy word, 
Where every lip with blessing greets Thee, 

Where all are waiting on their I^ord. 

O happy house ! where man and wife in heart, 

In faith and hope are one, 
That neither life nor death can ever part 

The holy union here begun ; 
Where both are sharing one salvation, 

And live before Thee, L,ord, always, 
In gladness or in tribulation, 

In happy or in evil days. 



lpoems for £be Ikfng's 2)augbters 105 

O happy house ! whose little ones are given 

Early to Thee, in faith and prayer — 
To Thee, their Friend, who from the heights of 
heaven 

Guards them with more than mother's care. 
O happy house ! where little voices 

Their glad hosannas love to raise, 
And childhood's lisping tongue rejoices 

To bring new songs of love and praise. 

O happy house ! and happy servitude ! 

Where all alike one Master own ; 
Where daily duty in Thy strength pursued, 

Is never hard nor toilsome known ; 
Where each one serves Thee, meek and lowly, 

Whatever Thine appointment be, 
Till common tasks seem great and holy, 

When they are done as unto Thee. 

O happy house ! where Thou art not forgot 

Where joy is flowing full and free ; 
O happy house ! where every wound is brought, 

Physician, Comforter, to Thee. 
Until at last, earth's day's work ended, 

All meet Thee in that home above, 
From whence Thou earnest, where Thou hast 
ascended, 

Thy heaven of glory and of love ! 

Translated by Mrs. Eric Findlater. (Slightly altered.) 



106 Sunsbine in %ite 

Sarab ff lower Hbams. 

1805-1848. 

FATHER, THY WILL BE DONE. 

He sendeth sun, He sendeth shower,— 
Alike they 're needful for the flower ; 
And joys and tears alike are sent 
To give the soul fit nourishment. 
As comes to me or cloud or sun, 
Father ! Thy will, not mine, be done. 

Can loving children e'er reprove 

With murmurs whom they trust and love ? 

Creator, I would ever be 

A trusting, loving child to Thee ; 

As comes to me or cloud or sun, 

Father ! Thy will, not mine, be done. 

Oh, ne'er will I at life repine ; 
Enough that Thou hast made it mine. 
When falls the shadow cold of death, 
I yet will sing with parting breath, 
As comes to me or shade or sun, 
Father ! Thy will, not mine, be done. 



Ipoema for ftbe Ifting'e 2>augbters 107 
IRicbarfc Gbene\>l£ Zvench. 

1 807- 1 886. 
THE KINGDOM OF GOD. 

I say to thee, do thou repeat 

To the first man thou mayest meet, 

In lane, highway, or open street, — 

That he, and we, and all men move 

Under a canopy of Love, 

As broad as the blue sky above : 

That doubt and trouble, fear and pain, 
And anguish, all are sorrows vain ; 
That death itself shall not remain : 

That weary deserts we may tread, 
A dreary labyrinth may thread, 
Through dark ways underground be led ; 

Yet, if we will one Guide obey, 
The dreariest path, the darkest way, 
Shall issue out in heavenly day. 

And we, on divers shores now cast, 
Shall meet, our perilous voyage past, 
All in our Father's house at last. 

And ere thou leave him, say thou this, 
Yet one word more : they only miss 
The winning of that final bliss — 



io8 Sunsbfne in %ite 

Who will not count it true that Love, 
Blessing, not cursing, rules above, 
And that in it we live and move. 

And one thing further make him know, 
That to believe these things are so, 
This firm faith never to forego, — 

Despite of all which seems at strife 
With blessing, and with curses rife, — 
That this is blessing, this is life. 

DIFFERENT MINDS. 

Some murmur when their sky is clear, 

And wholly bright to view, 
If one small speck of dark appear 

In their great heaven of blue. 
And some with thankful love are filled, 

If but one streak of light, 
One ray of God's good mercy, gild 

The darkness of their night. 

In palaces are hearts that ask, 

In discontent and pride, 
Why life is such a dreary task, 

And all good things denied. 
And hearts in poorest huts admire 

How love has, in their aid — 
(Dove that not ever seems to tire) 

Such rich provision made. 



ipoems for XLbc IRtng's Baugbters 109 

THE EFFECTS OF PRAYER. 

Iyord, what a change within us one short hour 
Spent in Thy presence will avail to make ! 
What heavy burdens from our bosoms take, 
What parched grounds revive, as with a shower ! 
We kneel, and all around us seems to lower ; 
We rise, and all the distant and the near, 
Stands forth in sunny outline, brave and clear. 
We kneel, how weak ! we rise, how full of power ! 
Why, therefore, should we do ourselves this 

wrong, 
Or others, — that we are not always strong ; 
That we are ever overborne with care, 
That we should ever weak or heartless be, 

r 

Anxious or troubled, when with us is prayer, 
And joy, and strength, and courage are with 
Thee? 



COUPLETS. 

When thou hast thanked thy God for every bless- 
ing sent, 

What time will then remain for murmurs or 
lament ? 

When God afflicts thee, think He hews a rugged 

stone, 
Which must be shaped, or else aside as useless 

thrown. 



Sunsblne in %ltc 



Qhomas /IDUler. 

i 808-1 874. 

EVENING SONG. 

How many days with mute adieu 

Have gone down yon untrodden sky, 
And still it looks as clear and blue 

As when it first was hung on high. 
The rolling sun, the frowning cloud 

That drew the lightning in its rear, 
The thunder tramping deep and loud, 

Have left no foot-mark there. 

The village-bells, with silver chime, 

Come softened by the distant shore ; 
Though I have heard them many a time, 

They never rung as sweet before. 
A silence rests upon the hill, 

A listening awe pervades the air ; 
The very flowers are shut and still, 

And bowed as if in prayer. 

And in this hushed and breathless close, 

O'er earth and air and sky and sea, 
A still, low voice in silence goes, 

Which speaks alone, great God, of Thee. 
The whispering leaves, the far-off brook, 

The linnet's warble fainter grown, 
The hive-bound bee, the building rook, — 

All these their Maker own. 



Ipoe.m0 for Gbe IRing's Daugbtere n 

Now Nature sinks in soft repose, 

A living semblance of the grave ; 
The dew steals noiseless on the rose, 

The boughs have almost ceased to wave ; 
The silent sky, the sleeping earth, 

Tree, mountain, stream, the humble sod, 
All tell from whom they had their birth, 

And cry, " Behold a God !" 



Iboratius 3Bonar. 

i 808-1 889. 

THE MASTER'S TOUCH. 

In the still air the music lies unheard, 

In the rough marble beauty hides unseen ; 

To wake the music and the beauty, needs 

The master's touch, the sculptor's chisel keen. 

Great Master, touch us with Thy skilful hand ; 

Let not the music that is in us die ! 
Great Sculptor, hew and polish us ; nor let, 

Hidden and lost, Thy form within us lie ! 

Spare not the stroke ! do with us as Thou wilt ! 

Let there be naught unfinished, broken, marred ; 
Complete Thy purpose, that we may become 

Thy perfect image, O our God and Lord ! 



Sunsbinc in Xtfe 



HE LIVETH LONG WHO LIVETH WELL. 

He liveth long who liveth well ! 

All other life is short and vain ; 
He liveth longest who can tell 

Of living most for heavenly gain. 

He liveth long who liveth well ! 

All else is being flung away ; 
He liveth longest who can tell 

Of true things truly done each day. 

Waste not thy being ; back to Him 
Who freely gave it, freely give ; 

Else is that being but a dream ; 
"T is but to be, and not to live. 

Be wise, and use thy wisdom well ; 

Who wisdom speaks must live it too ; 
He is the wisest who can tell 

How first he lived, then spoke, the true. 

Be what thou seemest ! live thy creed ! 

Hold up to earth the torch divine ; 
Be what thou prayest to be made ; 

I^et the great Master's steps be thine. 

Fill up each hour with what will last ; 

Buy up the moments as they go ; 
The life above, when this is past, 

Is the ripe fruit of life below. 



poems for Gbe Ifting'e 2>augbters 113 

Sow truth, if thou the true wouldst reap : 
Who sows the false shall reap the vain ; 

Erect and sound thy conscience keep ; 
From hollow words and deeds refrain. 

Sow love, and taste its fruitage pure ; 

Sow peace, and reap its harvest bright ; 
Sow sunbeams on the rock and moor, 

And find a harvest-home of light. 

THE NEW SONG. 

Beyond the hills where suns go down, 
And brightly beckon as they go, 

I see the land of far renown, 
The land which I so soon shall know. 

Above the dissonance of time, 
And discord of its angry words, 

I hear the everlasting chime, 
The music of unjarring chords. 

I bid it welcome ; and my haste 

To join it cannot brook delay, 
O song of morning, come at last, 

And ye who sing it, come away. 

O song of light, and dawn, and bliss, 
Sound over earth, and fill these skies ! 

Nor ever, ever, ever cease 

Thy soul-entrancing melodies ! 



H4 Sunsbine in TLite 

Glad song of this disburdened earth, 
Which holy voices then shall sing ; 

Praise for creation's second birth, 
And glory to creation's King ! 

BE TRUE. 

Thou must be true thyself, 

If thou the truth wouldst teach ; 

Thy soul must overflow, if thou 
Another's soul wouldst reach : 

It needs the overflow of heart 
To give the lips full speech. 

Think truly, and thy thoughts 
Shall the world's famine feed ; 

Speak truly, and each word of thine 
Shall be a fruitful seed ; 

Live truly, and thy life shall be 
A great and noble creed. 



5ulia parfcoe. 

i 808- i 862. 

THE BEACON-LIGHT 

Darkness was deepening o'er the seas, 
And still the hulk drove on ; 

No sail to answer to the breeze, — 
Her masts and cordage gone : 



Iftoems for Zbe Ikfng's ©augbters 115 

Gloomy and drear her course of fear, — 

Each looked but for a grave, — 
When, full in sight, the beacon-light 

Came streaming o'er the wave. 

And gayly of the tale they told, 

When they were safe on shore ; 
How hearts had sunk, and hopes grown cold, 

Amid the billows' roar ; 
When not a star had shone from far, 

By its pale beam to save, 
Then, full in sight, the beacon-light 

Came streaming o'er the wave. 

Then wildly rose the gladdening shout 

Of all that hardy crew ; 
Boldly they put the helm about, 

And through the surf they flew. 
Storm was forgot, toil heeded not, 

And loud the cheer they gave, 
As, full in sight, the beacon-light 

Came streaming o'er the wave. 

Thus, in the night of Nature's gloom, 

When sorrow bows the heart, 
When cheering hopes no more illume, 

And comforts all depart ; 
Then from afar shines Bethlehem's star, 

With cheering light to save ; 
And, full in sight, its beacon-light 

Comes streaming o'er the grave. 



n6 Sunsbine In Xife 

Hlfret) Qcnnyson. 

1809. 

FROM "IN MEMORIAM." 

Our little systems have their day ; 
They have their day and cease to be : 
They are but broken lights of Thee, 

And Thou, O Lord, art more than they. 

Forgive my grief for one removed, 
Thy creature, whom I found so fair. 
I trust he lives in Thee, and there 

I find him worthier to be loved, 

I sometimes hold it half a sin 
To put in words the grief I feel ; 
For words, like Nature, half reveal 

And half conceal the soul within. 



The path by which we twain did go, 

Which led by tracts that pleased us well, 
Thro' four sweet years arose and fell, 

From flower to flower, from snow to snow : 

And we with singing cheer' d the way, 
And, crown' d with all the season lent, 
From April on to April went, 

And glad at heart from May to May. 



Ipoems for Zbc Ifcfng's ©augbters 117 

When each by turns was guide to each, 
And Fancy light from Fancy caught, 
And Thought leapt out to wed with 
Thought, 

Ere Thought could wed itself with Speech. 

I hold it true, whate'er befall ; 
I feel it, when I sorrow most : 
'T is better to have loved and lost 

Than never to have loved at all. 

The time draws near the birth of Christ : 
The moon is hid ; the night is still ; 
The Christmas bells from hill to hill 

Answer each other in the mist. 

Four voices of four hamlets round, 

From far and near, on mead and moor, 
Swell out and fail, as if a door 

Were shut between me and the sound : 

Each voice four changes on the wind, 
That now dilate, and now decrease, 
Peace and good-will, good-will and peace, 

Peace and good-will to all mankind. 

Thrice blest whose lives are faithful prayers, 
Whose loves in higher love endure ; 
What souls possess themselves so pure, 

Or is there blessedness like theirs ? 



n8 Sunsbine in %ite 

% % ■% >(c %. %. >fc 

Behold, we know not anything ; 
I can but trust that good shall fall 
At last — far off — at last, to all, 

And every winter change to spring. 

So runs my dream : but what am I ? 
An infant crying in the night : 
An infant crying for the light : 

And with no language but a cry. 

THE FOOLISH VIRGINS. 

MATT. XXV. 

From " Idylls of the King " (Guinevere). 

' ' L,ate, late, so late ! and dark the night and chill ! 
Late, late, so late ! but we can enter still. 
Too late, too late ! ye cannot enter now ! 

' ' No light had we : for that we do repent ; 
And, learning this, the bridegroom will relent. 
Too late, too late ! ye cannot enter now ! 

' ' No light, so late ! and dark and chill the night ! 
O let us in, that we may find the light ! 
Too late, too late ! ye cannot enter now ! 

' ' Have we not heard the bridegroom is so sweet ? 
O let us in, though late, to kiss his feet ! 
No, no, too late ! ye- cannot enter now ! ' ' 



poems for Gbe Iking's Baugbters 119 

1benn? Blforfc, 

1810-1871. 

SAFE TO THE LAND. 

I know not if the dark or bright 

Shall be my lot ; 
If that wherein my hopes delight, 

Be best or not. 

It may be mine to drag for years 

Toil's heavy chain ; 
Or day or night, my meat be tears, 

On bed of pain. 

Dear faces may surround my hearth 

With smile and glee, 
Or I may dwell alone, and mirth 

Be strange to me. 

My bark is wafted to the strand 

By breath divine, 
And on the helm there rests a Hand 

Other than mine. 

One who has ever known to sail 

I have on board ; 
Above the raging of the gale 

I hear my I/>rd. 



Sunsbine in %ifc 



He holds me ; when the billows smite 

I shall not fall ; 
If sharp, 't is short ; if long, 't is light ; 

He tempers all. 

Safe to the land, safe to the land ! 

The end is this ; 
And then with Him go hand in hand, 

Far into bliss. 



Bli3abetb Barrett Browning* 

1809-1861. 

WORK AND CONTEMPLATION. 

The woman singeth at her spinning-wheel 

A pleasant chant, ballad, or barcarolle ; 

She thinketh of her song, upon the whole, 

Far more than of her flax ; and yet the reel 

Is full, and artfully her fingers feel 

With quick adjustment, provident control, 

The lines, too subtly twisted to unroll, 

Out to a perfect thread. I hence appeal 

To the dear Christian Church — that we may do 

Our Father's business in these temples mirk, 

Thus swift and steadfast ; thus intent and strong ; 

"While, thus, apart from toil, our souls pursue 

Some high, calm, spheric tune, and prove our work 

The better for the sweetness of our song. 



poems for Zbc IKtng's 2>augbters 



CHEERFULNESS TAUGHT BY REASON. 

I think we are too ready with complaint 

In this fair world of God's. Had we no hope 

Indeed beyond the zenith and the slope 

Of yon grey blank of sky, we might grow faint 

To muse upon eternity's constraint 

Round our aspirant souls. But since the scope 

Must widen early, is it well to droop, 

For a few days consumed in loss and taint ? 

O pusillanimous heart, be comforted, — 

And, like a cheerful traveller, take the road — 

Singing beside the hedge. What if the bread 

Be bitter in thine inn, and thou unshod 

To meet the flints ?— At least it may be said, 

" Because the way is short, I thank Thee, God ! " 



FROM " MY DOVES." 

'T was hard to sing by Babel's stream — 

More hard in Babel's street; 
But if the soulless creatures deem 

Their music not unmeet 
For sunless walls, let us begin, 
Who wear immortal wings within ! 



Sunsbine in Xife 



IRobert Browning. 

1812-1889. 

FRAGMENT. SONG FROM " PIPPA PASSES." 

The year 's at the spring, 
And day 's at the morn ; 
Morning 's at seven ; 
The hillside 's dew-pearled ; 
The lark 's on the wing ; 
The snail 's on the thorn ; 
God 's in His heaven — 
All 's right with the world. 



Cbarles fll>acfea£. 

1814-1889. 

LITTLE AT FIRST, BUT GREAT AT LAST. 

A traveller through a dusty road, strewed acorns 

on the lea ; 
And one took root, and sprouted up, and grew 

into a tree. 
L,ove sought its shade, at evening time, to breathe 

its early vows ; 
And age was pleased, in heats of noon, to bask 

beneath its boughs : 
The dormouse loved its dangling twigs, the birds 

sweet music bore ; 
It stood a glory in its place, a blessing evermore. 



poems for Zbe IRlng's ©augbters 123 

A little spring had lost its way amid the grass and 

fern, 
A passing stranger scooped a well, where weary 

men might turn ; 
He walled it in, and hung with care a ladle at the 

brink ; 
He thought not of the deed he did, but judged 

that toil might drink. 
He passed again, and lo ! the well, by summers 

never dried, 
Had cooled ten thousand parching tongues, and 

saved a life beside. 

A dreamer dropped a random thought ; 't was old, 
and yet 't was new ; 

A simple fancy of the brain, but strong in being 
true. 

It shone upon a genial mind, and, lo ! its light 
became 

A lamp of life, a beacon ray, a monitory flame : 

The thought was small ; its issue great ; a watch- 
fire on the hill ; 

It sheds its radiance far adown, and cheers the 
valley still. 

A nameless man, amid a crowd that thronged the 

daily mart, 
I*et fall a word of hope and love, unstudied, 

from the heart, — 



124 Sunsbine In %itc 

A whisper on the tumult thrown, — a transitory 

breath, — 
It raised a brother from the dust ; it saved a soul 

from death. 
O germ ! O fount ! O word of love ! O thought at 

random cast ! 
Ye were but little at the first, but mighty at the 

last ! 



I LAY IN SORROW, DEEP DISTRESSED. 

I lay in sorrow, deep distress' d ; 

My grief a proud man heard ; 
His looks were cold, he gave me gold, 

But not a kindly word. 
My sorrow pass'd, — I paid him back 

The gold he gave to me ; 
Then stood erect and spoke my thanks, 

And bless' d his Charity. 

I lay in want, in grief and pain : 

A poor man pass'd my way ; 
He bound my head, he gave me bread, 

He watch' d me night and day. 
How shall I pay him back again, 

For all he did to me ? 
Oh, gold is great, but greater far 

Is heavenly Sympathy ! 



poems for Gbe IRfng's 2>augbters 125 

Hubrep ICbomas Be Were. 

1814. 

THE DARK ANGEL. 

Count each affliction, whether light or grave, 
God's messenger sent down to thee. Do thou 
With courtesy receive him : rise and bow ; 
And, ere his shadow pass thy threshold, crave 
Permission first his heavenly feet to lave ; 
Then lay before him all thou hast ; allow 
No cloud of passion to usurp thy brow 
Or mar thy hospitality ; no wave 
Of mortal tumult to obliterate 
Thy soul's marmoreal* calmness. ' Grief should be 
Dike joy, majestic, equable, sedate, 
Confirming, cleansing, raising, making free : 
Strong to consume small troubles ; to commend 
Great thoughts, grave thoughts, thoughts lasting 
to the end. 



ifrefceric Milliam ffaber. 

1814-1863. 

COME TO JESUS. 

Souls of men, why will ye scatter 
Dike a crowd of frightened sheep ?- 

Foolish hearts ! why will ye wander 
From a love so true and deep ? — 

* Like marble. 



126 Sunsbine in Xffe 

Was there ever kindest shepherd 
Half so gentle, half so sweet, 

As the Saviour who would have us 
Come and gather round His feet ? — 

It is God : His love looks mighty, 
But is mightier than it seems ! 

'T is our Father ; and His fondness 
Goes far out beyond our dreams. 

There 's a wideness in God's mercy, 
Like the wideness of the sea ; 

There 's a kindness in His justice, 
Which is more than liberty. 

There is no place where earth's sorrows 
Are more felt than up in heaven ; 

There is no place where earth's failings 
Have such kindly judgment given. 

There is welcome for the sinner, 
And more graces for the good ; 

There is mercy with the Saviour ; 
There is healing in His blood. 

There is grace enough for thousands 
Of new worlds as great as this ; 

There is room for fresh creations 
In that upper home of bliss. 



poems for XLbc IRfng's Baugbters 127 

For the love of God is broader 
Than the measures of man's mind ; 

And the Heart of the Eternal 
Is most wonderfully kind. 

But we make His love too narrow 

By false limits of our own ; 
And we magnify His strictness 

With a zeal He will not own. 

There is plentiful redemption 
In the blood that has been shed ; 

There is joy for all the members 
In the sorrows of the Head. 

'T is not all we owe to Jesus ; 

It is something more than all ; 
Greater good because of evil, 

Larger mercy through the fall. 

Pining souls ! come nearer Jesus ; 

And, oh come, not doubting thus, 
But with faith that trusts more bravely 

His vast tenderness for us. 

If our love were but more simple, 
We should take Him at His word ; 

And our lives would be all sunshine 
In the sweetness of our Iyord. 



128 Sunsblne in Xife 

THE WILL OF GOD. 

I worship thee, sweet will of God ! 

And all thy ways adore, 
And every day I live, I seem 

To love thee more and more. 

Thou wert the end, the blessed rule 
Of our Saviour's toils and tears : 

Thou wert the passion of His heart 
Those three-and-thirty years. 

And He hath breathed into my soul 

A special love of thee, 
A love to lose my will in His, 

And by that loss be free. 

I love to see thee bring to nought 

The plans of wily men ; 
When simple hearts outwit the wise, 

Oh, thou art loveliest then ! 

The headstrong world, it presses hard 

Upon the church full oft, 
And then how easily thou turn'st 

The hard ways into soft. 

I love to kiss each print where thou 
Hast set thine unseen feet : 

I cannot fear thee, blessed will ! 
Thine empire is so sweet. 



poems for Zbc Iktng's 2>augbters 129 

"When obstacles and trials seem 

Like prison-walls to be, 
I do the little I can do, 

And leave the rest to thee. 

I know not what it is to doubt ; 

My heart is ever gay ; 
I run no risk, for come what will 

Thou always hast thy way. 

I have no cares, O blessed will ! 

For all my cares are thine ; 
I live in triumph, L,ord ! for Thou 

Hast made Thy triumphs mine. 

And when it seems no chance or change 

From grief can set me free, 
Hope finds its strength in helplessness, 

And gayly waits on Thee. 

Man's weakness waiting upon God 

Its end can never miss, 
For men on earth no work can do 

More angel-like than this. 

Ride on, ride on triumphantly, 
Thou glorious will ! ride on ; 

Faith's pilgrim sons, behind thee take 
The road that thou hast gone. 
9 



13° Sunsbfne in Xife 

He always wins who sides with God, 

To him no chance is lost ; 
God's will is sweetest to him, when 

It triumphs at his cost. 

Ill that He blesses, is our good, 

And unblest good is ill ; 
And all is right that seems most wrong, 

If it be His sweet will ! 



INVITATION TO THE MISSION. 

O come to the merciful Saviour who calls you, 

O come to the IyOrd who forgives and forgets ; 
Though dark be the fortune on earth that befalls 
you, 
There 's a bright home above where the sun 
never sets. 

O come then to Jesus, whose arms are extended 
To fold His dear children in closest embrace ; 

O come, for your exile will shortly be ended, 
And Jesus will show you His beautiful face. 

Yes, come to the Saviour, whose mercy grows 

brighter 

The longer you look at the depths of His love ; 

And fear not ! 't is Jesus, and life's cares grow 

lighter 

As you think of the home and the glory above. 



poems for XLbe IKfng's Daughters 131 

Have you sinned as none else in the world have 
before you ? 
Are you blacker than all other creatures in 
guilt ? 
O fear not, and doubt not ! the mother who bore 
you 
Loves you less than the Saviour whose blood 
you have spilt. 

O come then to Jesus, and say how you love Him, 
And vow at His feet you will keep in His 
grace ; 
For one tear that is shed by a sinner can move 
Him, 
And your sins will drop off in His tender 
embrace. 

Come, come to His feet and lay open your story, 
Of suffering and sorrow, of guilt and of shame ; 

For the pardon of sin is the crown of His glory, 
And the joy of our Lord to be true to His 
name. 

Come quickly to Jesus for graces and pardons, 
Come now, for who needs not His mercy and 
love? 
Believe me, dear children, that England's fair 
gardens 
Are dull to the bright land that awaits you 
above. 



i32 Sunsbfne in Xife 

PERFECTION. 

O how the thought of God attracts 
And draws the heart from earth, 

And sickens it of passing shows 
And dissipating mirth ! 

'T is not enough to save our souls, 

To shun the eternal fires ; 
The thought of God will rouse the heart 

To more sublime desires. 

God only is the creature's home, 
Though rough and straight the road ; 

Yet nothing less can satisfy 
The love that longs for God. 

O utter but the Name of God 
Down in your heart of hearts, 

And see how from the world at once 
All tempting light departs. 

A trusting heart, a yearning eye, 

Can win their way above ; 
If mountains can be moved by faith, 

Is there less power in love ? 

How little of that road, my soul ! 

How little hast thou gone ! 
Take heart, and let the thought of God 

Allure thee further on. 



fl>oems for Zbc Iftlng's Daugbters 133 

The freedom from all wilful sin, 

The Christian's daily task, — 
Oh these are graces far below 

What longing love would ask ! 

Dole not thy duties out to God, 

But let thy hand be free : 
Look long at Jesus ; His sweet blood, 

How was it dealt to thee ? 

The perfect way is hard to flesh ; 

It is not hard to love ; 
If thou wert sick for want of God, 

How swiftly wouldst thou move ! 

Then keep thy conscience sensitive ; 

No inward token miss ; 
And go where grace entices thee ; — 

Perfection lies in this. 

THE STARRY SKIES. 

The starry skies, they rest my soul, 

Its chains of care unbind, 
And with the dew of cooling thoughts 

Refresh my sultry mind. 

And, like a bird amidst the boughs, 

I rest, and sing and rest, 
Among those bright dissevered worlds, 

As safe as in a nest. 



134 Sunsbfnc in %ifc 

And oft I think the starry sprays 
Swing with me where I light, 

While brighter branches lure me o'er 
New gulfs of purple night. 

Yes, something draws me upward there 
As morning draws the lark ; 

Only my spell, whate'er it is, 
Works better in the dark. 

It is as if a home was there, 
To which my soul was turning, 

A home not seen, but nightly proved 
By a mysterious yearning. 

It seems as if no actual space 

Could hold it in its bond ; 
Thought climbs its highest, still it is 

Always beyond, beyond. 

Earth never feels like home, though fresh 

And full its tide of mirth ; 
No glorious change we can conceive 

Would make a home of earth. 

But God alone can be a home ; 

And His sweet vision lies 
Somewhere in that soft gloom concealed, 

Beyond the starry skies. 



fl>oems for Zhe Ifttng's Daughters 135 

So, as if waiting for a voice, 

Nightly I gaze and sigh, 
While the stars look at me silently 

Out of their silent sky. 

How have I erred ! God is my home, 

And God Himself is here ; 
Why have I looked so far for Him 

Who is nowhere but near ? 

Oh, not in distant starry skies, 

In vastness not abroad, 
But everywhere in His whole Self 

Abides the whole of God. 

In golden presence not diffused, 

Not in vague fields of bliss, 
But whole in every present point 

The Godhead simply is. 

Down in earth's duskiest vales, where'er 

My pilgrimage may be, 
Thou, Iyord ! wilt be a ready home 

Always at hand for me. 

I spake, but God was nowhere seen ; 

Was His love too tired to wait ? 
Ah no ! my own unsimple love 

Hath often made me late. 



136 Sunsbinc in %itc 

How often things already won 

It urges me to win, 
How often makes me look outside 

For that which is within. 

Our souls go too much out of self 
Into ways dark and dim : 

'T is rather God who seeks for us. 
Than we who seek for Him. 

Yet surely through my tears I saw 
God softly drawing near ; 

How came He without sight or sound 
So soon to disappear ? 

God was not gone ; but He so longed 

His sweetness to impart, 
He too was seeking for a home 

And found it in my heart. 

Twice had I erred : a distant God 
Was what I could not bear ; 

Sorrows and cares were at my side ; 
I longed to have Him there. 

But God is never so far off 

As even to be near ; 
He is within : our spirit is 

The home He holds most dear. 



poems for Gbe Ifcfng's H>aucjbters 137 

To think of Him as by our side 

Is almost as untrue, 
As to remove His throne beyond 

Those skies of starry blue. 

So all the while I thought myself 
Homeless, forlorn, and weary, 

Missing my joy, I walked the earth 
Myself God's sanctuary. 



Hrtbur 1bugb Glougb. 

1819-1861. 

WHERE LIES THE LAND? 

Where lies the land to which the ship would go ? 
Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know.. 
And where the land she travels from ? Away, 
Far, far behind, is all that they can say. 

On sunny noons, upon the deck's smooth face, 
L/ink'd arm in arm, how pleasant here to pace ; 
Or, o'er the stern reclining, watch below 
The foaming wake far widening as we go. 

On stormy nights, when wild north-westers rave, 
How proud a thing to fight with wind and wave ! 
The dripping sailor on the reeling mast 
Exults to bear, and scorns to wish it past. 



138 Sunsbine in %ifc 

Where lies the land to which the ship would go ? 
Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know. 
And where the land she travels from ? Away, 
Far, far behind, is all that they can say. 



Cbarles IRingsles* 

1819-1875. 

A FAREWELL. 

My fairest child, I have no song to give you ; 

No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray ; 
Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you 
For every day. 

Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever ; 
Do noble things, not dream them, all day long ; 
And so make life, death, and that vast forever 
One grand sweet song. 



G. HKIlasbinoton flDoon. 

WHO SHALL ROLL AWAY THE STONE? 

That which weeping ones were saying 
Eighteen hundred years ago, 

We, the same weak faith betraying, 
Say in our sad hours of woe ; 



Ipoems for XLbc IRfng's 2)augbters 139 

Looking at some trouble lying 
In the dark and dread unknown, 

We, too, often ask with sighing, 
' ' Who shall roll away the stone ? ' ' 

Thus with care our spirits crushing, 
When they might from care be free, 

And, in joyous song out-gushing, 
Rise in rapture, Lord, to Thee. 

For, before the way was ended, 
Oft we 've had with joy to own, 

Angels have from heaven descended, 
And have rolled away the stone. 

Many a storm-cloud sweeping o'er us 

Never pours on us its rain ; 
Many a grief we see before us 

Never comes to cause us pain. 

Ofttimes in the feared ' ' to-morrow ' ' 
Sunshine comes, the cloud has flown. 

Ask not, then, in foolish sorrow, 
' ' Who shall roll away the stone ? ' ' 



i4" Sunsbtne in %ife 

Hnna %. Waring. 

1820. 

MY TIMES ARE IN THY HAND. 

Father, I know that all my life 

Is portioned out for me, 
And the changes that will surely come, 

I do not fear to see ; 
But I ask Thee for a present mind 

Intent on pleasing Thee. 

I ask Thee for a thoughtful love, 
Through constant watching wise, 

To meet the glad with joyful smiles, 
And to wipe the weeping eyes ; 

And a heart at leisure from itself, 
To soothe and sympathize. 

I would not have the restless will 

That hurries to and fro, 
Seeking for some great thing to do, 

Or secret thing to know ; 
I would be treated as a child, 

And guided where I go. 

Wherever in the world I am, 

In whatsoe'er estate, 
I have a fellowship with hearts 

To keep and cultivate ; 



poems for Jibe Ikfng's Daughters 141 

And a work of lowly love to do, 
For the Lord on whom I wait. 

So I ask Thee for the daily strength, 

To none that ask denied, 
And a mind to blend with outward life, 

While keeping at Thy side ; 
Content to fill a little space, 

If Thou be glorified. 

And if some things I do not ask, 
• In my cup of blessing be, 
I would have my spirit filled the more 

With grateful love to Thee ; 
And careful, less to serve Thee much, 

Than to please Thee perfectly. 

There are briars besetting every path, 

Which call for patient care ; 
There is a cross in every lot, 

And an earnest need for prayer ; 
But a lowly heart that leans on Thee 

Is happy anywhere. 

In a service which Thy will appoints, 

There are no bonds for me ; 
For my secret heart is taught " the truth " 

That makes Thy children " free " ; 
And a life of self-renouncing love 

Is a life of liberty. 



142 Sunsbine in Xife 

ZlDattbew Brnoto. 

i 822- i 888. 
SELF-DEPENDENCE. 

Weary of myself, and sick of asking 
What I am, and what I ought to be, 

At this vessel's prow I stand, which bears me 
Forward, forward, o'er the star-lit sea. 

And a look of passionate desire 

O'er the sea and to the stars I send : 

' ' Ye who from my childhood up have calmed me, 
Calm me, ah, compose me to the end ! 

" Ah, once more," I cried, " ye stars, ye waters, 
On my heart your mighty charm renew ; 

Still, still let me, as I gaze upon you, 
Feel my soul becoming vast like you ! " 

From the intense, clear, star-sown vault of heaven, 

Over the lit sea's unquiet way, 
In the rustling night air came the answer : 

' ' Would'st thou be as these are ? Live as they. 

' ' Unaffrighted by the silence round them, 
Undistracted by the sights they see, 

These demand not that the things without them 
Yield them love, amusement, sympathy. 



lPoems for Zbe IRtng'0 Daughters 143 

" And with joy the stars perform their shining, 
And the sea its long moon-silvered roll ; 

For self-poised they live, nor pine with noting 
All the fever of some differing soul. 

" Bounded by themselves, and unregardful 
In what state God's other works may be, 

In their own tasks all their powers pouring, 
These attain the mighty life you see." 

O air-born voice ! long since severely clear, 
A cry like thine in my own heart I hear : 

" Resolve to be thyself ; and know that he, 
Who finds himself, loses his misery ! " 



Boelafoe B. Procter. 

1 825-1 864. 

A LEGEND OF BREGENZ. 

Girt round with rugged mountains 

The fair Lake Constance lies ; 
In her blue heart reflected 

Shine back the starry skies ; 
And, watching each white cloudlet 

Float silently and slow, 
You think a piece of Heaven 

Lies on our earth below ! 



144 Sunsbine in Xite 

Midnight is there : and Silence, 

Enthroned in Heaven, looks down 
Upon her own calm mirror, 

Upon a sleeping town : 
For Bregenz, that quaint city 

Upon the Tyrol shore, 
Has stood above Lake Constance 

A thousand years and more. 

Her battlements and towers, 

From off their rocky steep, 
Have cast their trembling shadow 

For ages on the deep : 
Mountain, and lake, and valley, 

A sacred legend know, 
Of how the town was saved, one night 

Three hundred years ago. 

Far from her home and kindred, 

A Tyrol maid had fled, 
To serve in the Swiss valleys, 

And toil for daily bread ; 
And every year that fleeted 

So silently and fast, 
Seemed to bear farther from her 

The memory of the past. 

She served kind, gentle masters, 
Nor asked for rest or change ; 

Her friends seemed no more new ones, 
Their speech seemed no more strange ; 



poems for XLhc Iking's Baugbtecs 145 

And when she led her cattle 

To pasture every day, 
She ceased to look and wonder 

On which side Bregenz lay. 

She spoke no more of Bregenz, 

With longing and with tears ; 
Her Tyrol home seemed faded 

In a deep mist of years ; 
She heeded not the rumors 

Of Austrian war and strife : 
Each day she rose, contented, 

To the calm toils of life. 

Yet, when her master's children 

Would clustering round her stand, 
She sang them ancient ballads 

Of her own native land ; 
And when at morn and evening 

She knelt before God's throne, 
The accents of her childhood 

Rose to her lips alone. 

And so she dwelt : the valley 

More peaceful year by year ; 
When suddenly strange portents 

Of some great deed seemed near. 
The golden corn was bending 

Upon its fragile stalk, 
While farmers, heedless of their fields, 

Paced up and down in talk. 



146 Sunsbine in %itc 

The men seemed stern and altered, 

With looks cast on the ground ; 
With anxious faces, one by one, 

The women gathered round ; 
All talk of flax, or spinning, 

Or work, was put away ; 
The very children seemed afraid 

To go alone to play. 

One day, out in the meadow, 

With strangers from the town, 
Some secret plan discussing, 

The men walked up and down. 
Yet now and then seemed watching 

A strange, uncertain gleam, 
That looked like lances 'mid the trees 

That stood below the stream. 

At eve they all assembled, 

Then care and doubt were fled ; 
With jovial laugh they feasted ; 

The board was nobly spread. 
The elder of the village 

Rose up, his glass in hand, 
And cried : ' ' We drink the downfall 

Of an accursed land ! 

1 ' The night is growing darker, 
Ere one more day is flown, 

Bregenz, our foeman's stronghold, 
Bregenz shall be our own ! ' ' 



poems for Zbe Iking's Daugbters 147 

The women shrank in terror, 
(Yet pride, too, had her part), 

But one poor Tyrol maiden 
Felt death within her heart. 

Before her stood fair Bregenz ; 

Once more her towers arose ; 
What were the friends beside her ? 

Only her country's foes ! 
The faces of her kinsfolk, 

The days of childhood flown, 
The echoes of her mountains, 

Reclaimed her as their own ! 

Nothing she heard around her 

(Though shouts rang forth again), 
Gone were the green Swiss valleys, 

The pasture, and the plain ; 
Before her eyes one vision, 

And in her heart one cry, 
That said : " Go forth, save Bregenz, 

And then, if need be, die ! " 

With trembling haste and breathless, 

With noiseless step, she sped ; 
Horses and weary cattle 

Were standing in the shed ; 
She loosed the strong white charger, 

That fed from out her hand ; 
She mounted, and she turned his head 

Towards her native land. 



148 Sunsbine in Xife 

Out — out into the darkness — 

Faster, and still more fast ; 
The smooth grass flies behind her, 

The chestnut wood is past ; 
She looks up ; clouds are heavy : 

Why is her steed so slow ? — 
Scarcely the wind beside them 

Can pass them as they go. 

" Faster ! " she cries, " O faster ! " 

Eleven the church-bells chime : 
" O God," she cries, " help Bregenz, 

And bring me there in time ! ' ' 
But louder than bells' ringing, 

Or lowing of the kine, 
Grows nearer in the midnight 

The rushing of the Rhine. 

Shall not the roaring waters 

Their headlong gallop check ? 
The steed draws back in terror, 

She leans upon his neck 
To watch the flowing darkness ; 

The bank is high and steep ; 
One pause — he staggers forward, 

And plunges in the deep. 

She strives to pierce the blackness, 
And looser throws the rein ; 

Her steed must breast the waters 
That dash above his mane. 






f»oem6 for Zbc lying's Daughters 149 

How gallantly, how nobly 
He struggles through the foam, 

And see — in the far distance 
Shine out the lights of home ! 

Up the steep bank he bears her, 

And now, they rush again 
Towards the heights of Bregenz, 

That tower above the plain. 
They reach the gate of Bregenz, 

Just as the midnight rings, 
And out come serf and soldier 

To meet the news she brings. 

Bregenz is saved ! Ere daylight 

Her battlements are manned ; 
Defiance greets the army 

That marches on the land. 
And if to deeds heroic 

Should endless fame be paid, 
Bregenz does well to honor 

The noble Tyrol maid. 

Three hundred years are vanished 

And yet upon the hill 
An old stone gateway rises 

To do her honor still. 
And there, when Bregenz women 

Sit spinning in the shade, 
They see in quaint old carving 

The charger and the maid. 



150 Sunsbine in "Lite 

And when, to guard old Bregenz, 

By gateway, street, and tower, 
The warder paces all night long 

And calls each passing hour ; 
" Nine," "ten," " eleven," he cries aloud, 

And then (O crown of Fame !) 
"When midnight pauses in the skies, 

He calls the maiden's name ! 



NOW. 

Rise ! for the day is passing, 

And you lie dreaming on ; 
The others have buckled their armor, 

And forth to the fight are gone : 
A place in the ranks awaits you, 

Bach man has some part to play ; 
The Past and the Future are nothing, 

In the face of the stern To-day. 

Rise from your dreams of the Future,- 

Of gaining some hard-fought field ; 
Of storming some airy fortress, 

Or bidding some giant yield ; 
Your Future has deeds of glory, 

Of honor (God grant it may !) 
But your arm will never be stronger, 

Or the need so great as To-day. 









fl>oems for Zbe IKfng's Baugbters 151 

Rise ! if the Past detain you, 

Her sunshine and storms forget ; 
No chains so unworthy to hold you 

As those of a vain regret : 
Sad or bright, she is lifeless ever ; 

Cast her phantom arms away, 
Nor look back, save to learn the lesson 

Of a nobler strife To-day. 

Rise ! for the day is passing ; 

The sound that you scarcely hear 
Is the enemy marching to battle : — 

Arise ! for the foe is here ! 
Stay not to sharpen your weapons, 

Or the hour will strike at last, 
When from dreams of a coming battle, 

You may wake to find it past ! 



THE OLD YEAR'S BLESSING. 

I am fading from you, 
But one draweth near, 

Called the Angel-guardian 
Of the coming year. 

If my gifts and graces 

Coldly you forget, 
Let the New- Year's Angel 

Bless and crown them yet. 



152 Sunsbine in Xife 

For we work together ; 

He and I are one : 
Let him end and perfect 

All I leave undone. 

I brought good desires, 
Though as yet but seeds ; 

Let the New- Year make them 
Blossom into deeds. 

I brought joy to brighten 

Many happy days ; 
Let the New- Year's Angel 

Turn it into praise. 

If I gave you sickness, 
If I brought you care, 

Let him make one patience, 
And the other prayer. 

Where I brought you sorrow, 
Through his care at length, 

It may rise triumphant 
Into future strength. 

If I brought you plenty, 
All wealth's bounteous charms, 

Shall not the New Angel 
Turn them into alms ? 









lpoems for XLbc Iking's Baugbters 153 

I gave health and leisure, 

Skill to dream and plan ; 
Let him make them nobler ; — 

Work for God and man. 

If I broke your idols, 

Showed you they were dust, 

Let him turn the knowledge 
Into heavenly trust. 

If I brought temptation, 

Let sin die away 
Into boundless pity 

For all hearts that stray. 

If your list of errors 

Dark and long appears, 
Let this new-born Monarch 

Melt them into tears. 

May you hold this Angel 

Dearer than the last, — 
So I bless his future, 

While he crowns my past. 

SPRING. 

Hark ! the hours are softly calling, 

Bidding Spring arise, 
To listen to the rain-drops falling 

From the cloudy skies, 






154 Sunsbinc in %itc 

To listen to Earth's weary voices, 

Ivouder every day, 
Bidding her no longer linger 

On her charmed way ; 
•But hasten to her task of beauty 

Scarcely yet begun ; 
By the first bright day of Summer 

It should all be done. 
She has yet to loose the fountain 

From its iron chain ; 
And to make the barren mountain 

Green and bright again ; 
She must clear the snow that lingers 

Round the stalks away, 
And let the snow- drop's trembling whiteness 

See the light of day. 
She must watch, and warm, and cherish 

Every blade of green, 
Till the tender grass appearing 

From the earth is seen ; 
She must bring the golden crocus 

From her hidden store ; 
She must spread broad showers of daisies 

Each day more and more. 
In each hedge-row she must hasten 

Cowslips sweet to set ; 
Primroses in rich profusion, 

"With bright dew-drops wet, 
And under every leaf, in shadow 

Hide a violet ! 



poems for Zbe Iking's ©augbters 155 

Every tree within the forest 

Must be decked anew ; 
And the tender buds of promise 

Should be peeping through, 
Folded deep, and almost hidden, 

Leaf by leaf beside, 
What will make the Summer's glory, 

And the Autumn's pride. 
She must weave the loveliest carpets, 

Checkered sun and shade, 
Every wood must have such pathways, 

Laid in every glade ; 
She must hang laburnum branches 

On each arched bough ; — 
And the white and purple lilac 

Should be waving now ; 
She must breathe, and cold winds vanish 

At her breath away ; 
And then load the air around her 

With the scent of May ! 
Listen then, O Spring ! nor linger 

On thy charmed way ; 
Have pity on thy 'prisoned flowers 

Wearying for the day. 
Listen to the rain-drops falling 

From the cloudy skies ; 
Listen to the hours calling, 

Bidding thee arise. 



156 Sunsbine in Xtfe 

EVENING HYMN. 

The shadows of the evening hours 

Fall from the darkening sky ; 
Upon the fragrance of the flowers 

The dews of evening lie ; 
Before Thy throne, O Lord of heaven, 

We kneel at close of day ; 
Look on Thy children from on high, 

And hear us while we pray. 

The sorrows of Thy servants, Lord, 

O do not Thou despise ; 
But let the incense of our prayers 

Before Thy mercy rise ; 
The brightness of the coming night 

Upon the darkness rolls : 
With hopes of future glory chase 

The shadows on our souls. 

Slowly the rays of daylight fade ; 

So fade within our heart 
The hopes in earthly love and joy, 

That one by one depart : 
Slowly the bright stars one by one, 

Within the heavens shine ; — 
Give us, O Lord, fresh hopes in heaven, 

And trust in things divine. 

Let peace, O Lord, Thy peace, O God, 
Upon our souls descend ; 



poems for TLhc IRtng's 2>augbters 157 

From midnight fears and perils, Thou 

Our trembling hearts defend ; 
Give us a respite from our toil, 

Calm and subdue our woes ; 
Through the long day we suffer, Lord, 

O give us now repose ! 



PER PACEM AD LUCEM. 

I do not ask, O Lord, that life may be 

A pleasant road ; 
I do not ask that Thou wouldst take from me 

Aught of its load ; 

I do not ask that flowers should always spring 

Beneath my feet ; 
I know too well the poison and the sting 

Of things too sweet. 

For one thing only, Lord, dear Lord, I plead, 

Lead me aright — 
Though strength should falter, and though heart 
should bleed — 

Through Peace to Light. 

I do not ask, O Lord, that Thou shouldst shed 

Full radiance here ; 
Give but a ray of peace, that I may tread 

Without a fear. 



158 Sunsbine in %itc 

I do not ask my cross to understand, 

My way to see ; 
Better in darkness just to feel Thy hand 

And follow Thee. 

Joy is like restless day ; but peace divine 

Like quiet night : 
Lead me, O Lord, — till perfect Day shall shine, 

Through Peace to Light. 



Hlfsabetb IRunble Cbarles. 

ABOUT 1826. 

THE CRUSE THAT FA1LETH NOT. 

" It is more blessed to give than to receive." 

Acts xx., 35. 

Is thy cruse of comfort wasting ? rise and share it 

with another, 
And through all the years of famine it shall serve 

thee and thy brother ; 

Love divine will fill thy storehouse, or thjr hand- 
ful still renew ; 

Scanty fare for one will often make a royal feast 
for two. 



11>oems for Gbe Iking's 2>augbters 159 

For the heart grows rich in giving ; all its wealth 

is living grain ; 
Seeds, which mildew in the garner, scattered, fill 

with gold the plain. 

Is thy burden hard and heavy ? do thy steps drag 

wearily ? 
Help to bear thy brother's burden ; God will bear 

both it and thee. 

Numb and weary on the mountains, wouldst thou 

sleep amidst the snow ? 
Chafe that frozen form beside thee, and together 

both shall glow. 

Art thou stricken in life's battle ? Many wounded 

round thee moan ; 
Lavish on their wounds thy balsams, and that 

balm shall heal thine own. 

Is the heart a well left empty ? None but God its 

void can fill ; 
Nothing but a ceaseless Fountain can its ceaseless 

longings still. 

Is the heart a living power ? Self-entwined, its 

strength sinks low ; 
It can only live in loving, and by serving love 

will grow. 



i6o Sunsblne in Xife 



Cecil Frances Blejanfcer. 

ABOUT 1830. 

THE BURIAL OF MOSES. 

" And he buried him in a valley in the land of Moab, 
over against Beth-Peor ; but no man knoweth of his 

sepulchre unto this day." 

DEUT. xxxiv., 6. 

By Nebo's lonely mountain, 

On this side Jordan's wave, 
In a vale in the land of Moab, 

There lies a lonely grave. 
And no man knows that sepulchre, 

And no man saw it e'er, 
For the angels of God upturned the sod, 

And laid the dead man there. 

That was the grandest funeral 

That ever passed on earth ; 
But no man heard the trampling, 

Or saw the train go forth : 
Noiselessly as the daylight 

Comes back when night is done, 
And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek 

Grows into the great sun, 

Noiselessly as the spring-time 
Her crown of verdure weaves, 

And all the trees on all the hills, 
Open their thousand leaves ; 



poems for Zbc Iking's Baugbters r6i 

So without sound of music, 

Or voice of them that wept, 
Silently down from the mountain's crown, 

The great procession swept. 

Perchance the bald old eagle, 

On gray Beth-Peor's height, 
Out of his lonely eyrie, 

looked on the wondrous sight ; 
Perchance the lion stalking, 

Still shuns that hallowed spot, 
For beast and bird have seen and heard, 

That which man knoweth not. 

But when the warrior dieth, 

His comrades in the war, 
With arms reversed and muffled drum, 

Follow his funeral car ; 
They show the banners taken, 

They tell his battles won, 
And after him lead his masterless steed, 

While peals the minute-gun. 

Amid the noblest of the land, 

We lay the sage to rest, 
And give the bard an honored place 

With costly marble drest, 
In the great minster transept 

Where lights like glories fall, 
And the organ rings, and the sweet choir sings, 

Along the emblazoned wall. 



162 Sunsbfne in %itc 

This was the truest warrior 

That ever buckled sword, 
This, the most gifted poet 

That ever breathed a word ; 
And never earth's philosopher 

Traced with his golden pen 
On the deathless page, truths half so sage 

As he wrote down for men. 

And had he not high honor, — 
The hillside for a pall, 

To lie in state, while angels wait 
With stars for tapers tall, 

And the dark rock-pines like tossing plumes- 
Over his bier to wave, 

And God's own hand, in that lonely land, 
To lay him in the grave ? 

In that strange grave without a name, 

Whence his uncoffmed clay 
Shall break again, O wondrous thought ! 

Before the judgment-day, 
And stand with glory wrapt around 

On hills he never trod, 
And speak of the strife that won our life 

With the Incarnate Son of God. 

O lonely grave in Moab's land ! . 

O dark Beth-Peor's hill ! 
Speak to these curious hearts of ours, 

And teach them to be still. 



Ipoems for Zhe Iktng's Daughters 163 

God hath His mysteries of grace, 

Ways that we cannot tell ; 
He hides them deep, like the hidden sleep 

Of him He loved so well. 



Sir Bfcwfn Brnolfc. 

1832. 

APRIL. 

Blossom of the almond trees, 
April's gift to April's bees, 
Birthday ornament of spring, 
Flora's fairest daughterling ; — 
Coming when no flowerets dare 
Trust the cruel outer air, 
When the royal king cup bold 
Will not don his coat of gold, 
And the sturdy blackthorn spray 
Keeps its silver for the May ; — 
Coming when no flowerets would, 
Save thy lowly sisterhood, 
Early violets, blue and white, 
Dying for their love of light, — 
Almond blossom, sent to teach us, 
That the spring-days soon will reach us, 
Lest, with longing over-tried, 
We die as the violets died. 



164 Sunsbine in %ifc 

Blossom, clouding all the tree 

With thy crimson 'broidery, 

Long before a leaf of green 

On the bravest bough is seen ; 

Ah ! when winter winds are swinging 

All thy red bells into ringing, 

With a bee in every bell, 

Almond bloom, we greet thee well. 



Sabine ^arinc^Ooulfc), 

i8 34 . 

THE OLIVE-TREE. 

Said an ancient hermit, bending 
Half in prayer upon his knee, 

" Oil I need for midnight watching, 
I desire an olive-tree." 

Then he took a tender sapling, 

Planted it before his cave, 
Spread his trembling hands above it, 

As his benison he gave. 

But he thought, the rain it needeth, 
That the root may drink and swell : 

" God ! I pray Thee, send Thy showers ! " 
So a gentle shower fell. 



lpoems for XLbe Iftfng's 2>augbter0 165 

' ' Iyord ! I ask for beams of summer, 

Cherishing this little child. ' ' 
Then the dripping clouds divided, 

And the sun looked down and smiled. 

" Send it frost to brace its tissues, 
O my God ! " the hermit cried. 

Then the plant was bright and hoary, 
But at evensong it died. 

Went the hermit to a brother 

Sitting in his rocky cell : 
" Thou an olive-tree possessest ; 

How is this, my brother, tell ? 

' ' I have planted one, and prayed, 
Now for sunshine, now for rain ; 

God hath granted each petition, 
Yet my olive-tree hath slain ! ' ' 

Said the other : " I intrusted 

To its God my little tree ; 
He who made knew what it needed 

Better than a man like me. 

" I^aid I on Him no condition, 
Fixed not ways and means ; so I 

Wonder not my olive thriveth, 
Whilst thy olive-tree did die." 



166 Sunsbine in Xife 

CHILD'S EVENING HYMN. 

Now the day is over, 
Night is drawing nigh, 

Shadows of the evening 
Steal across the sky. 

Now the darkness gathers, 
Stars begin to peep, 

Birds, and beasts, and flowers 
Soon will be asleep. 

Jesu, give the weary 
Calm and sweet repose, 

With Thy tenderest blessing 
May our eyelids close. 

Grant to little children 
Visions bright of Thee, 

Guard the sailors tossing 
On the deep blue sea. 

Comfort every sufferer 
Watching late in pain, 

Those who plan some evil 
From their sin restrain. 

Through the long night-watches 
May Thine angels spread 

Their white wings above me, 
Watching round my bed. 



poems for XTbe Iktng's Daughters 167 

When the morning wakens, 

Then may I arise 
Pure and fresh and sinless 

In Thy holy eyes. 

Glory to the Father, 

Glory to the Son, 
And to Thee, blest Spirit, 

Whilst all ages run. Amen. 



Frances IRfolep 1ba\?ergal. 

1837-1879. 

LIFE MOSAIC. 

Master, to do great work for Thee, my hand 
Is far too weak ! Thou gi vest what may suit — 
Some little chips to cut with care minute, 
Or tint, or grave, or polish. Others stand 
Before their quarried marble fair and grand, 
And make a life-work of the great design 
Which Thou hast traced ; or, many-skilled, com- 
bine 
To build vast temples, gloriously planned. 
Yet take the tiny stones which I have wrought, 
Just one by one, as they were given by Thee, 
Not knowing what came next in Thy wise 

thought. 
Set each stone by Thy master-hand of grace, 
Form the Mosaic as Thou wilt for me, 
And in Thy temple-pavement give it place. 



168 Sungblne in Xife 

" JESUS ONLY." 
Matt, xvii., 8. 



"Jesus only ! " In the shadow 
Of the cloud so chill and dim, 

We are clinging, loving, trusting, 
He with us, and we with Him ; 

All unseen, though ever nigh, 

"Jesus only " — all our cry. 

II. 

"Jesus only ! " In the glory, 
When the shadows all are flown, 

Seeing Him in all His beauty, 
Satisfied with Him alone ; 

May we join His ransomed throng, 

1 ' Jesus only ' ' — all our song ! 

ASCENSION SONG. 
" He ascended up on high." — Eph. iv., 8 

Golden harps are sounding, 

Angel voices ring, 
Pearly gates are opened — 

Opened for the King ; 
Christ, the King of Glory, 

Jesus, King of I^ove, 
Is gone up in triumph 

To His throne above. 



Ipoems for Gbe Ifttng's Daughters 169 

All his work is ended, 

Joyfully we sing, 
Jesus hath ascended ! 

Glory to our King ! 

He who came to save us, 

He who bled and died, 
Now is crowned with glory 

At His Father's side, 
Never more to suffer, 

Never more to die ; 
Jesus, King of Glory, 

Is gone up on high. 
All His work is ended, 

Joyfully we sing, 
Jesus hath ascended ! 

Glory to our King ! 

Praying for His children 

In that blessed place, 
Calling them to glory, 

Sending them His grace ; 
His bright home preparing, 

Faithful ones, for you ; 
Jesus ever liveth, 

Ever loveth too. 
All His work is ended, 

Joyfully we sing, 
Jesus hath ascended ! 

Glory to our King ! 



170 Sunsbine in TLite 

WHOSE I AM. 

Jesus, Master, whose I am, 
Purchased Thine alone to be, 

By Thy blood, O spotless Lamb, 
Shed so willingly for me ; 

Let my heart be all Thine own, 

Let me live to Thee alone. 

Other lords have long held sway ; 

Now, Thy name alone to bear, 
Thy dear voice alone obey, 

Is my daily, hourly prayer. 
Whom have I in heaven but Thee ? 
Nothing else my joy can be. 

Jesus, Master ! I am Thine ; 

Keep me faithful, keep me near ; 
Let Thy presence in me shine 

All my homeward way to cheer. 
Jesus ! at Thy feet I fall, 
Oh, be Thou my All-in-All ! 

CONSECRATION HYMN. 

" Here we offer and present unto Thee, O Lord, our- 
selves, our souls, and bodies, to be a reasonable, holy, 
and living sacrifice unto Thee." 

Take my life, and let it be 
Consecrated, Lord, to Thee. 

Take my moments and my days ; 
Let them flow in ceaseless praise. 



Ipoems for Zhe Iktng's 2>augbter8 171 

Take my hands, and let them move 
At the impulse of Thy love. 

Take my feet, and let them be 
Swift and " beautiful " for Thee. 

Take my voice, and let me sing 
Always, only, for my King. 

Take my lips, and let them be 
Filled with messages from Thee. 

Take my silver and my gold ; 
Not a mite would I withhold. 

Take my intellect, and use 

Every power as Thou shalt choose. 

Take my will, and make it Thine ; 
It shall be no longer mine. 

Take my heart, it is Thine own ; 
It shall be Thy royal throne. 

Take my love ; my Iyord, I pour 
At Thy feet its treasure-store. 

Take myself, and I will be 
Ever, only, all for Thee. 



172 Sunsbine in life 



ANOTHER YEAR. 

Another year is dawning ! 

Dear Master, let it be, 
In working or in waiting, 

Another year with Thee. 

Another year of leaning 
Upon Thy loving breast, 

Of ever-deepening trustfulness, 
Of quiet, happy rest. 

Another year of mercies, 
Of faithfulness and grace ; 

Another year of gladness 
In the shining of Thy face. 

Another year of progress, 
Another year of praise ; 

Another year of proving 
Thy presence ' ' all the days. ' 

Another year of service, 
Of witness for Thy love ; 

Another year of training 
For holier work above. 

Another year is dawning ! 

Dear Master, let it be, 
On earth, or else in heaven, 

Another year for Thee ! 



fl>oems for ftbe IRing's 2)augbters 173 
Sarab ©oufcne^ 

THE LESSON OF THE WATER-MILL, 

Listen to the water-mill 

Through the live-long day, 
How the clicking of its wheel 

Wears the hours away ! 
Languidly the autumn wind 

Stirs the forest leaves, 
From the fields the reapers sing, 

Binding up the sheaves ; 
And a proverb haunts my mind 

As a spell is cast : 
' ' The mill cannot grind 

With the water that is past." 

Autumn winds revive no more 

Leaves that once are shed, 
And the sickle cannot reap 

Corn once gathered ; 
Flows the ruffled streamlet on, 

Tranquil, deep, and still ; 
Never gliding back again 

To the water-mill ; 
Truly speaks that proverb old 

With a meaning vast : 
' ' The mill cannot grind 

With the water that is past." 

Take the lesson to thyself, 
True and loving heart ; 



i74 Sunsbtne in %ifc 



Golden youth is fleeting by, 

Summer hours depart ; 
Learn to make the most of life, 

Lose no happy day, 
Time will never bring thee back, 

Chances swept away ! 
I^eave no tender word unsaid, 

Love, while love shall last : 
' ' The mill cannot grind 

With the water that is past. ' ' 

Work while yet the daylight shines, 

Man of strength and will ! 
Never does the streamlet glide 

Useless by the mill ; 
Wait not till to-morrow's sun 

Beams upon thy way, 
All that thou canst call thine own 

Lies in thy ' ' to-day ' ' ; 

Power and intellect and health 

May not always last : 
" The mill cannot grind 

With the water that is past." 

Oh, the wasted hours of life 

That have drifted by ! 
Oh, the good that might have been, 

Lost without a sigh ! 
Love that we might once have saved 

By a single word. 



poems for £be IRtng's Daughters 175 

Thoughts conceived but never penned, 

Perishing unheard. 
Take the proverb to thine heart, 

Take and hold it fast : 
' ' The mill cannot grind 

With the water that is past." 



Hugusta Webster. 

1840. 

THE GIFT. 

happy glow ! O sun-bathed tree ! 
O golden-lighted river ! 

A love-gift has been given me, 
And which of you is giver ? 

1 came upon you something sad, 
Musing a mournful measure, 

Now all my heart in me js glad 
With a quick sense of pleasure. 

I came upon you with a heart 
Half sick of life's vexed story, 

And now it grows of you a part, 
Steeped in your golden glory. 

A smile into my heart has crept, 
And laughs through all my being ; 

New joy into my life has leapt, 
A joy of only seeing ! 



176 Sunebine In Xife 

O happy glow ! O sun-bathed tree ! 

O golden-lighted river ! 
A love-gift has been given to me, 

And which of you is giver ? 



Hrtbur Cleveland Coje, 

1818. 

THE CHIMES OF ENGLAND. 

The chimes, the chimes of Motherland, 

Of England green and old, 
That out from fane and ivied tower 

A thousand years have toll'd — 
How glorious must their music be 

As breaks the hallow' d day, 
And calleth with a seraph's voice 

A nation up to pray ! 

Those chimes that tell a thousand tales — 

Sweet tales of olden time ! — 
And ring a thousand memories 

At vesper, and at prime : 
At bridal and at burial, 

For cottager and king — 
Those chimes — those glorious Christian 
chimes, 

How blessedly they ring ! 

Those chimes, those chimes of Motherland, 
Upon a Christmas morn, 



Ipoeme for Zbc IRing'e Daugbtere 177 

Outbreaking, as the angels did, 

For a Redeemer born, — 
How merrily they call afar, 

To cot and baron's hall, 
With holly deck'd and mistletoe, 

To keep the festival ! 

The chimes of England, how they peal 

From tower and gothic pile, 
Where hymn and swelling anthem fill 

The dim cathedral aisle ; 
Where windows bathe the holy light 

On priestly heads that falls, 
And stain the florid tracery 

And banner-dighted walls ! 

And then, those Easter bells, in Spring ! 

Those glorious Easter chimes ! 
How loyally they hail thee round, 

Old Queen of holy times ! 
From hill to hill, like sentinels 

Responsively they cry, 
And sing the rising of the I,ord, 

From vale to mountain high. 

I love ye, chimes of Motherland, 

With all this soiil of mine, 
And bless the L,ord that I am sprung 

Of good old English line ! 



178 Sunsbine in %ifc 

And like a son I sing the lay- 
That England's glory tells ; 

For she is lovely to the Lord, 
For you, ye Christian bells ! 

And heir of her ancestral fame, 

And happy in my birth, 
Thee too I love, my Forest-land, 

The joy of all the earth ; 
For thine thy mother's voice shall be, 

And here, where God is King, 
With English chimes, from Christian spires, 

The wilderness shall ring. 



Sohn 0. (L Brainarfc, 

1 796- 1 828. 

THE FALL OF NIAGARA. 
" L,abitur et labetur." 

The thoughts are strange that crowd into my 

brain, 
While I look upward to thee. It would seem 
As if God poured thee from His " hollow hand,'* 
And hung His bow upon thine awful front ; 
And spoke in that loud voice, which seemed to 

him 
Who dwelt in Patmos for his Saviour's sake, 
' ' The sound of many waters ' ' ; and had bade 
Thy flood to chronicle the ages back, 
And notch His centuries in the eternal rocks. 



poems for Zhc Iking's 2>augbter6 179 

Deep calleth unto deep. And what are we, 
That hear the question of that voice sublime ? 
O ! what are all the notes that ever rung 
From war's vain trumpet, by thy thundering side ? 
Yea, what is all the riot man can make 
In his short life, to thy unceasing roar ? 
And yet, bold babbler, what art thou to Him, 
Who drowned a world, and heaped the waters far 
Above its loftiest mountains ? — a light wave, 
That breaks, and whispers of its Maker's might. 

EPITHALAMIUM. 

I saw two clouds at morning, 

Tinged by the rising sun ; 
And in the dawn they floated on, 

And mingled into one ; 
I thought that morning cloud was blest, 
It moved so sweetly to the west. 

I saw two summer currents, 

Flow smoothly to their meeting, 
And join their course, with silent force, 

In peace each other greeting ; 
Calm was their course through banks of green, 
While dimpling eddies played between. 

Such be your gentle motion, 

Till life's last pulse shall beat ; 
Iyike summer's beam, and summer's stream, 

Float on, in joy, to meet 
A calmer sea, where storms shall cease, — 
A purer sky, where all is peace. 



i so Sunsbine in Xife 

William Gullen Bryant. 

i 794-1878. 

A FOREST HYMN. 

The groves were God's first temples. Ere man 

learned 
To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, 
And spread the roof above them, — ere he framed 
The lofty vault, to gather and roll back 
The sound of anthems ; in the darkling wood, 
Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down, 
And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks 
And supplication. For his simple heart 
Might not resist the sacred influences 
Which, from the stilly twilight of the place, 
And from the gray old trunks that high in heaven 
Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound 
Of the invisible breath that swayed at once 
All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed 
His spirit with the thought of boundless power 
And inaccessible majesty. Ah, why 
Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect 
God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore 
Only among the crowd, and under roofs 
That our frail hands have raised ? I^et me, at 

least, 
Here, in the shadow of this aged wood, 
Offer one hymn — thrice happy, if it find 
Acceptance in His ear. 



lpoems for Zhe Iftfng's Daughters 181 

Father, Thy hand 
Hath reared these venerable columns, Thou 
Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look 

down 
Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose 
All the fair ranks of trees. They, in Thy sun, 
Budded, and shook their green leaves in Thy 

breeze, 
And shot toward heaven. The century-living 

crow 
Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died 
Among their branches, till, at last, they stood, 
As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark, 
Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold 
Communion with his Maker. These dim vaults, 
These winding aisles, of human pomp or pride 
Report not. No fantastic carvings show 
The boast of our vain race to change the form 
Of Thy fair works. But Thou art here— Thou 

fill's! 
The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds 
That run along the summit of these trees 
In music ; Thou art in the cooler breath 
That from the inmost darkness of the place 
Comes, scarcely felt ; the barky trunks, the 

ground, 
The fresh moist ground, are all instinct with 

Thee. 
Here is continual worship ; — Nature, here, 
In the tranquillity that Thou dost love, 



182 Sunsbine in Xtfe 

Enjoys Thy presence. Noiselessly, around, 

From perch to perch, the solitary bird 

Passes ; and yon clear spring, that, 'midst its 

herbs, 
Wells softly forth and wandering steeps the roots 
Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale 
Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left 
Thyself without a witness, in these shades, 
Of Thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and 

grace, 
Are there to speak of Thee. This mighty oak — 
By whose immovable stem I stand and seem 
Almost annihilated — not a prince, 
In all that proud old world beyond the deep, 
B'er wore his crown as loftily as he 
Wears the green coronal of leaves with which 
Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root 
Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare 
Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower, 
With scented breath and look so like a smile, 
Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould, 
An emanation of the indwelling Life, 
A visible token of the upholding L,ove, 
That are the soul of this great universe. 

My heart is awed within me when I think 
Of the great miracle that still goes on, 
In silence, round me — the perpetual work 
Of Thy creation, finished, yet renewed 
Forever. Written on Thy works I read 



Ipoems for Gbe IRfng's 2>augbters 183 

The lesson of Thy own eternity. 
Lo ! all grow old and die — but see again, 
How on the faltering footsteps of decay 
Youth presses — ever gay and beautiful youth 
In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees 
Wave not less proudly that their ancestors 
Moulder beneath them. Oh, there is not lost 
One of earth's charms : upon her bosom yet, 
After the flight of untold centuries, 
The freshness of her far beginning lies 
And yet shall lie. Iyife mocks the idle hate 
Of his arch-enemy Death — yea, seats himself 
Upon the tyrant's throne — the sepulchre, 
And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe 
Makes his own nourishment. For he came forth 
From Thine own bosom, and shall have no end. 

There have been holy men who hid themselves 
Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave 
Their lives to thought and prayer, till they out- 
lived 
The generation born with them, nor seemed 
I^ess aged than the hoary trees and rocks 
Around them ; — and there have been holy men 
Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus. 
But let me often to these solitudes 
Retire, and in Thy presence reassure 
My feeble virtue. Here its enemies, 
The passions, at Thy plainer footsteps shrink 
And tremble and are still. O God ! when Thou 



184 Sunsbtne in %ifc 

Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire 
The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill, 
With all the waters of the firmament, 
The swift dark whirlwind that uproots the woods 
And drowns the villages ; when, at Thy call, 
Uprises the great deep and throws himself 
Upon the continent, and overwhelms 
Its cities — who forgets not, at the sight 
Of these tremendous tokens of Thy power, 
His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by ? 
Oh, from these sterner aspects of Thy face 
Spare me and mine, nor let us need the wrath 
Of the mad unchained elements to teach 
Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate, 
In these calm shades, Thy milder majesty, 
And to the beautiful order of Thy works 
L,earn to conform the order of our lives. ' 

THE YELLOW VIOLET. 

When beechen buds begin to swell, 

And woods the blue-bird's warble know, 

The yellow violet's modest bell 

Peeps from the last year's leaves below. 

Ere russet fields their green resume, 
Sweet flower, I love, in forest bare, 

To meet thee, when thy faint perfume 
Alone is in the virgin air. 



Ipoems for Gbe Iklng's 2>augbter6 185 

Of all her train, the hands of Spring 
First plant thee in the watery mould, 

And I have seen thee blossoming 
Beside the snow-bank's edges cold. 

Thy parent sun, who bade thee view 
Pale skies, and chilling moisture sip, 

Has bathed thee in his own bright hue, 
And streaked with jet thy glowing lip. 

Yet slight thy form, and low thy seat, 
And earthward bent thy gentle eye, 

Unapt the passing view to meet, 

When loftier flowers are flaunting nigh. 

Oft, in the sunless April day, 

Thy early smile has stayed my walk ; 

But 'midst the gorgeous blooms of May, 
I passed thee on thy humble stalk. 

So they, who climb to wealth, forget 
The friends in darker fortunes tried. 

I copied them — but I regret 
That I should ape the ways of pride. 

And when again the genial hour 
Awakes the painted tribes of light, 

I '11 not o'erlook the modest flower 
That made the woods of April bright. 



186 Sunsbine in %ifc 

TO A WATERFOWL. 

Whither, 'midst falling dew, 

While glow the heavens with the last steps of 
day, 
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue 

Thy solitary way ? 

Vainly the fowler's eye 

Might mark thy distant flight to do thee 
wrong, 
As, darkly seen against the crimson sky, 

Thy figure floats along. 

Seek' st thou the plashy brink 

Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, 

Or where the rocking billows rise and sink 
On the chafed ocean-side ? 

There is a Power whose care 

Teaches thy way along that pathless coast — 
The desert and illimitable air — 

L/One wandering, but not lost. 

All day thy wings have fanned, 

At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, 
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, 

Though the dark night is near. 

And soon that toil shall end ; 

Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, 



lpoems for ftbe IFdng's Baugbters 187 

And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall 
bend 
Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. 

Thou 'rt gone, the abyss of heaven 

Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet, on my 
heart 
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, 

And shall not soon depart. 

He who, from zone to zone, 

Guides through the boundless sky thy certain 
flight, 
In the long way that I must tread alone, 

Will lead my steps aright. 

MARCH. 

The stormy March is come at last, 

With wind, and cloud, and changing skies ; 

I hear the rushing of the blast, 
That through the snowy valley flies. 

Ah, passing few are they who speak, 
Wild, stormy month ! in praise of thee ; 

Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak, 
Thou art a welcome month to me. 

For thou, to northern lands, again 
The glad and glorious sun dost bring, 



Sunsbine in %ifc 



And thou hast joined the gentle train 
And wear' st the gentle name of Spring. 

And, in thy reign of blast and storm, 
Smiles many a long, bright, sunny day, 

When the changed winds are soft and warm, 
And heaven puts on the blue of May. 

Then sing aloud the gushing rills, 

In joy that they again are free, 
And, brightly leaping down the hills, 

Renew their journey to the sea. 

The year's departing beauty hides 
Of wintry storms the sullen threat ; 

But in thy sternest frown abides 
A look of kindly promise yet. 

Thou bring' st the hope of those calm skies, 
And that soft time of sunny showers, 

When the wide bloom, on earth that lies, 
Seems of a brighter world than ours. 

THE CONSTELLATIONS. 

O Constellations of the early night, 
That sparkled brighter as the twilight died, 
And made the darkness glorious ! I have seen 
Your rays grow dim upon the horizon's edge, 
And sink behind the mountains. I have seen 



Ipoems for tbe IRing'0 Daugbtere 189 

The great Orion, with his jewelled belt, 
That large-limbed warrior of the skies, go down 
Into the gloom. Beside him sank a crowd 
Of shining ones. I look in vain to find 
The group of sister-stars, which mothers love 
To show their wondering babes, the gentle Seven. 
Along the desert space mine eyes in vain 
Seek the resplendent cressets which the Twins 
Uplifted in their ever-youthful hands. 
The streaming tresses of the Egyptian Queen 
Spangle the heavens no more. The Virgin trails 
No more her glittering garments through the blue. 
Gone ! all are gone ! And the forsaken Night, 
With all her winds, in all her dreary wastes, 
Sighs that they shine upon her face no more. 
Now only here and there a little star 
Iyooks forth alone. Ah me ! I know them not, 
Those dim successors of the numberless host 
That filled the heavenly fields, and flung to earth 
Their quivering fires. And now the middle watch 
Betwixt the eve and morn is past, and still 
The darkness gains upon the sky, and still 
It closes round my way. Shall, then, the Night 
Grow starless in her later hours ? Have these 
No train of flaming watchers, that shall mark 
Their coming and farewell ? O Sons of light ! 
Have ye then left me ere the dawn of day 
To grope along my journey sad and faint ? 
Thus I complained, and from the darkness round 
A voice replied — was it indeed a voice, 



i9° Sunsbine in %ifc 

Or seeming accents of a waking dream 
Heard by the inner ear ? But thus it said : 
O Traveller of the Night ! thine eyes are dim 
With watching ; and the mists, that chill the vale 
Down which thy feet are passing, hide from view 
The ever-burning stars. It is thy sight 
That is so dark, and not the heavens. 

Thine eyes, 
Were they but clear, would see a fiery host 
Above thee ; Hercules, with flashing mace, 
The Lyre with silver chords, the Swan uppoised 
On gleaming wings, the Dolphin gliding on 
With glistening scales, and that poetic Steed, 
With beamy mane, whose hoof struck out from 

earth 
The fount of Hippocrene, and many more, 
Fair clustered splendors, with whose rays the 

Night 
Shall close her march in glory, ere she yield, 
To the young Day, the great earth steeped in dew. 
So spake the monitor, and I perceived 
How vain were my repinings, and my thought 
Went backward to the vanished years and all 
The good and great who came and passed with 

them, 
And knew that ever would the years to come 
Bring with them, in their course, the good and 

great 
Lights of the world, though, to my clouded sight, 
Their rays might seem but dim, or reach me not. 



poems for tbe lking'6 2)augbters 191 

brands Scott Ikes. 

1 779- 1 843. 

LIFE. 

If life's pleasures cheer thee, 

Give them not thy heart, 
Lest the gifts ensnare thee 

From thy God to part : 
His praises speak, His favor seek, 

Fix there thy hopes' foundation ; 
Love Him, and He shall ever be 

The Rock of thy salvation. 

If sorrow e'er befall thee, 

Painful though it be, 
Let not fear appall thee : 

To thy Saviour flee ; 
He, ever near, thy prayer will hear, 

And calm thy perturbation ; 
The waves of woe shall ne'er o'erflow 

The Rock of thy salvation. 

Death shall never harm thee, 

Shrink not from his blow, 
For thy God shall arm thee 

And victory bestow : 
For death shall bring to thee no sting, 

The grave no desolation ; 
'T is gain to die, with Jesus nigh, 

The Rock of thy salvation. 



192 Sunsbine in %itc 

flfcafcame Jeanne jflDarie Boupier be la 
flfcotbe (Bupon. 

1648-1717. 

A LITTLE BIRD I AM. 
[Written during ten years' imprisonment in the Bastile.] 

A little bird I am ; 

Shut from the fields of air, 
And in my cage I sit and sing 

To Him who placed me there ; 
Well pleased a prisoner to be, 
Because, my God, it pleases Thee. 

Naught have I else to do ; 

I sing the whole day long ; 
And He, whom most I love to please, 

Doth listen to my song ; 
He caught and bound my wandering wing, 
But still He bends to hear me sing. 

Thou hast an ear to hear ; 

A heart to love and bless ; 
And, though my notes were e'er so rude, 

Thou would' st not hear the less ; 
Because Thou knowest, as they fall, 
That IyOve, sweet IyOve, inspires them all. 

My cage confines me round ; 

Abroad I cannot fly ; 
But, though my wing is closely bound, 

My heart 's at liberty. 



ff»oems for Zbc Iking's ©augbtere 193 

My prison walls cannot control 
The flight, the freedom, of the soul. 

Oh ! it is good to soar, 

These bolts and bars above, 
To Him whose purpose I adore, 

Whose providence I love ; 
And in Thy mighty will to find 
The joy, the freedom, of the mind. 

Translated by Prof. T. C. Upham. 



Militant IcqqcU. 

1 802- 1 839. 

LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 

The birds, when winter shades the sky, 

Fly o'er the seas away, 
Where laughing isles in sunshine lie, 

And summer breezes play ; 

And thus the friends that flutter near 
While fortune's sun is warm, 

Are startled if a cloud appear, 
And fly before the storm. 

But when from winter's howling plains 

Bach other warbler 's past, 
The little snow-bird still remains, 

And chirrups 'midst the blast. 

13 



i94 Sunsbfne in %\tc 

IyOve, like that bird, when friendship's throng 

With fortune's sun depart, 
Still lingers with its cheerful song, 

And nestles on the heart. 



(Beorge Benison prentice. 

1802-1870. 

SABBATH EVENING. 

How calmly sinks the parting sun ! 

Yet twilight lingers still ; 
And beautiful as dream of heaven 

It slumbers on the hill ; 
Earth sleeps, with all her glorious things, 
Beneath the Holy Spirit's wings, 
And rendering back the hues above, 
Seems resting in a trance of love. 

Round yonder rocks, the forest trees 

In shadowy groups recline, 
Like saints at evening bow'd in prayer 

Around their holy shrine ; 
And through their leaves the night- winds blow ; 
So calm and still, their music low 
Seems the mysterious voice of prayer, 
Soft echo'd on the evening air. 

And yonder western throng of clouds, 
Retiring from the sky, 



poems for Gbe lying's Daugbters 195 

So calmly move, so softly glow, 

They seem to Fancy's eye 
Bright creatures of a better sphere, 
Come down at noon to worship here, 
And from their sacrifice of love, 
Returning to their home above. 

The blue isles of the golden sea, 

The night-arch floating high, 
The flowers that gaze upon the heavens, 

The bright streams leaping by, 
Are living with religion ; — deep 
On earth and sea its glories sleep, 
And mingle with the starlight rays, 
Iyike the soft light of parted days. 

The spirit of the holy eve 

Comes through the silent air 
To feeling's hidden spring, and wakes 

A gush of music there ! 
And the far depths of ether beam 
So passing fair, we almost dream 
That we can rise and wander through 
Their open paths of trackless blue 

Bach soul is fiU'd with glorious dreams, 

Kach pulse is beating wild ; 
And thought is soaring to the shrine 

Of glory undefiled ! 
And holy aspirations start, 
L,ike blessed angels, from the heart, 



196 Sunsbine in Xifc 

And bind — for earth's dark ties are riven — 
Our spirits to the gates of heaven. 

A NAME IN THE SAND. 

Alone I walked the ocean strand, 
A pearly shell was in my hand ; 
I stooped and wrote upon the sand 

My name, the year and day : — 
As onward from the spot I passed, 
One lingering look behind I cast, — 
A wave came rolling high and fast, 

And washed my line away. 

And so, methought, 't will quickly be 
With every mark on earth from me : 
A wave of dark oblivion's sea, 

Will sweep across the place 
Where I have trod the sandy shore 
Of time, and been to be no more — 
Of me, my day, the name I bore, 

To leave no track or trace, 

And yet, with Him who counts the sands, 
And holds the water in His hands, 
I know a lasting record stands, 

Inscribed against my name, 
Of all this mortal part has wrought, 
Of all this thinking soul has thought, 
And from these fleeting moments caught, 

For glory or for shame. 



Ipoems for XLbe Ikfng's Daughters 197 

Sarab Ibelen Wbitman. 

1803-1878. 

A STILL DAY IN AUTUMN. 

I love to wander through the woodlands hoary, 
In the soft gloom of an autumnal day, 

When Summer gathers up her robes of glory, 
And, like a dream of beauty, glides away. 

How through each loved, familiar path she lingers, 
Serenely smiling through the golden mist, 

Tinting the wild grape with her dewy fingers, 
Till the cool emerald turns to amethyst ; 

Kindling the faint stars of the hazel, shining 
To light the gloom of Autumn's mouldering 
halls, 
With hoary plumes the clematis entwining, 
Where, o'er the rock, her withered garland 
falls. 

Warm lights are on the sleepy uplands waning 
Beneath soft clouds along the horizon rolled, 

Till the slant sunbeams, through their fringes 
raining, 
Bathe all the hills in melancholy gold. 

The moist winds breathe of crisped leaves and 
flowers, 
In the damp hollows of the woodland sown, 



198 Sunsbine in %ifc 

Mingling the freshness of autumnal showers 
With spicy airs from cedarn alleys blown. 

Beside the brook and on the umbered meadow, 
Where yellow fern-tufts fleck the faded ground, 

With folded lids beneath their palmy shadow, 
The gentian nods, in dewy slumbers bound. 

Upon those soft, fringed lids the bee sits brooding, 
Like a fond lover loath to say farewell, 

Or, with shut wings, through silken folds in- 
truding, 
Creeps near her heart his drowsy tale to tell. 

The little birds upon the hillside lonely 
Flit noiselessly along from spray to spray, 

Silent as a sweet, wandering thought, that only 
Shows its bright wings and softly glides away. 



IRalpb TKHalfco Bmersom 

i 803- i 882. 

THE SOUL'S PROPHECY. 

All before us lies the way ; 

Give the past unto the wind ; 
All before us is the day, 

Night and darkness are behind. 



poems for Zhe IRfwj's Daughters 199 

Eden with its angels bold, 

I^ove and flowers and coolest sea, 

Is less an ancient story told 
Than a glowing prophecy. 

In the spirit's perfect air, 

In the passions tame and kind, 

Innocence from selfish care, 
The real Eden we shall find. 

When the soul to sin hath died, 
True and beautiful and sound, 

Then all earth is sanctified, 
Up springs paradise around. 

From the spirit-land afar 
All disturbing force shall flee ; 

Stir, nor toil, nor hope shall mar 
Its immortal unity. 

THE RHODORA. 

On being asked, whence is the flower ? 

In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, 
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, 
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, 
To please the desert and the sluggish brook. 
The purple petals, fallen in the pool, 
Made the black water with their beauty gay ; 
Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool, 
And court the flower that cheapens his array. 



Sunsbfne in Xtfe 



Rhodora ! if the sages ask thee why 
This charm is wasted on the earth and sky, 
Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing, 
Then beauty is its own excuse for being. 
Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose ! 
I never thought to ask, I never knew ; 
But in my simple ignorance, suppose 
The self-same Power that brought me there 
brought you. 



Geovgc XUUL 
1803-1885. 

PILGRIM SONG. 

Over the mountain wave, see where they come, 
Storm-cloud and wintry wind welcome them 

home; 
Yet, where the sounding gale howls to the sea, 
There their song peals along, deep-toned and free : 
' ' Pilgrims and wanderers, hither we come ; 
Where the free dare to be, — this is our home ! " 

England hath sunny dales, dearly they bloom ; 
Scotia hath heather-hills, sweet their perfume ; 
Yet through the wilderness cheerful we stray, 
Native land, native land, home far away ! 
' ' Pilgrims and wanderers, hither we come ; 
Where the free dare to be, — this is our home ! " 



lpoems for Zhe lying's Daughters 201 

Dim grew the forest-path : onward they trod ; 
Firm beat their noble hearts, trusting in God ! 
Gray men and blooming maids, high rose their 

song; 
Hear it 'sweep, clear and deep, ever along : 
' ' Pilgrims and wanderers, hither we come ; 
Where the free dare to be, — this is our home ! ' ' 

Not theirs the glory -wreath, torn by the blast ; 
Heavenward their holy steps, heavenward they 

past. 
Green be their mossy graves ! Ours be their fame, 
While their song peals along ever the same : 
' ' Pilgrims and wanderers, hither we come ; 
Where the free dare to be, — this is our home ! ' ' 



Millfatn IRewelL 

1804-1881. 

SERVE GOD AND BE CHEERFUL. 

The motto of an English Bishop of the seventeenth 
century. 

" Serve God and be cheerful." The motto 
Shall be mine, as the bishop's of old ; 

On my soul's coat-of-arms I will write it 
In letters of azure and gold. 



Sunsbine in OLtfe 



' ' Serve God and be cheerful. ' ' Religion 
Looks all the more lovely in white ; 

And God is best served by His servant 
When, smiling, he serves in the light, 

And lives out the glad tidings of Jesus 
In the sunshine He came to impart, 

For the fruit of His word and His Spirit 
" Is love, joy, and peace " in the heart. 

" Serve God and be cheerful. ' ' Live nobly, 
Do right and do good. Make the best 

Of the gifts and the work put before you, 
And to God without fear leave the rest. 



William (Bilmore Simms* 

1806-1870. 

THE FIRST DAY OF SPRING. 

O Thou bright and beautiful day, 
First bright day of the virgin spring, 

Bringing the slumbering life into play, 
Giving the leaping bird his wing ! 

Thou art round me now in all thy hues, 
Thy robe of green, and thy scented sweets, 

In thy bursting buds, in thy blessing dews, 
In every form that my footstep meets. 



poems for Zbe IRfng'e Daugbters 203 

I hear thy voice in the lark's clear note, 
In the cricket's chirp at the evening hour, 

In the zephyr's sighs that around me float, 
In the breathing bud and the opening flower. 

I see thy forms o'er the parting earth, 
In the tender shoots of the grassy blade, 

In the thousand plants that spring to birth, 
On the valley's side in the home of shade. 

I feel thy promise in all my veins, 
They bound with a feeling long suppressed, 

And, like a captive who breaks his chains, 
Leap the glad hopes in my heaving breast. 

There are life and joy in thy coming spring ! 

Thou hast no tidings of gloom and death : 
But buds thou shakest from every wing, 

And sweets thou breathest with every breath. 



t>enr£ Wafcswortb Xongfellow, 

1807-1882. 

SANTA FILOMENA. 

Whene'er a noble deed is wrought, 
Whene'er is spoken a noble thought, 

Our hearts, in glad surprise, 

To higher levels rise. 



204 Sunsbinc in Xtfe 

The tidal wave of deeper souls 
Into our inmost being rolls, 

And lifts us unawares 

Out of all meaner cares. 

Honor to those whose words or deeds 
Thus help us in our daily needs, 
And by their overflow 
Raise us from what is low ! 

Thus thought I, as by night I read 
Of the great army of the dead, 
The trenches cold and damp, 
The starved and frozen camp, — 

The wounded from the battle-plain, 

In dreary hospitals of pain, 
The cheerless corridors, 
The cold and stony floors. 

IyO ! in that house of misery 

A lady with a lamp I see 

Pass through the glimmering gloom, 
And flit from room to room. 

And slow, as in a dream of bliss, 
The speechless sufferer turns to kiss 
Her shadow, as it falls 
Upon the darkening walls. 



poems for £be Iking's Daughters 205 

As if a door in heaven should be 
Opened and then closed suddenly, 
The vision came and went, 
The light shone and was spent. 

On England's annals, through the long 
Hereafter of her speech and song, 

That light its rays shall cast 

From portals of the past. 

A Lady with a Lamp shall stand 
In the great history of the land, 

A noble type of good, 

Heroic womanhood. 

Nor even shall be wanting here 
The palm, the lily, and the spear, 

The symbols that of yore 

Saint Filomena bore. 

MEMORIES. 

Oft I remember those whom I have known 
In other days, to whom my heart was led 
As by a magnet, and who are not dead, 
But absent, and their memories overgrown 
With other thoughts and troubles of my own, 
As graves with grasses are, and at their head 
The stone with moss and lichens so o'erspread, 
Nothing is legible but the name alone. 



206 Sunsbtne In %itc 

And is it so with them ? After long years, 
Do they remember me in the same way, 
And is the memory pleasant as to me ? 
I fear to ask ; yet wherefore are my fears ? 
Pleasures, like flowers, may wither and decay, 
And 3 T et the root perennial may be. 

FROM "THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES." 

And as the flowing of the ocean fills 
Each creek and branch thereof, and then retires, 
Leaving behind a sweet and wholesome savor ; 
So doth the virtue and the life of God 
Flow evermore into the hearts of those 
Whom He hath made partakers of His nature ; 
And, when it but withdraws itself a little, 
Leaves a sweet savor after it, that many 
Can say thej^ are made clean by every word 
That He hath spoken to them in their silence. 



Let us, then, labor for an inward stillness, 
An inward stillness and an inward healing ; 
That perfect silence where the lips and heart 
Are still, and we no longer entertain 
Our own imperfect thoughts and vain opinions, 
But God alone speaks in us, and we wait 
In singleness of heart, that we may know 
His will, and in the silence of our spirits, 
That we may do His will, and do that only ! 



poems for Zhc Iking's ©augbters 207 



FROM "THE GOLDEN LEGEND." 

Slowly, slowly up the wall 

Steals the sunshine, steals the shade ; 
Evening damps begin to fall, 

Evening shadows are displayed. 
Round me, o'er me, everywhere, 

All the sky is grand with clouds, 
And athwart the evening air 

Wheel the swallows home in crowds. 
Shafts of sunshine from the west 

Paint the dusky windows red ; 
Darker shadows, deeper rest, 

Underneath and overhead. 
Darker, darker, and more wan, 

In my breast the shadows fall ; 
Upward steals the life of man, 

As the sunshine from the wall. 
Erom the wall into the sky, 

Erom the roof along the spire ; 
Ah, the souls of those that die 

Are but sunbeams lifted higher. 



Time has laid his hand 
Upon my heart, gently, not smiting it, 
But as a harper lays his open palm 

Upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations. 



2o8 Sunsbine in %itc 



5obn Oreenleaf Wbittier. 



THE ETERNAL GOODNESS. 

Friends ! with whom my feet have trod 
The quiet aisles of prayer, 

Glad witness to your zeal for God 
And love of man I bear. 

1 trace your lines of argument ; 
Your logic linked and strong 

I weigh as one who dreads dissent, 
And fears a doubt as wrong. 

But still my human hands are weak 

To hold your iron creeds : 
Against the words ye bid me speak 

My heart within me pleads. 

Who fathoms the Eternal Thought ? 

Who talks of scheme and plan ? 
The L/ord is God ! He needeth not 

The poor device of man. 

I walk with bare, hushed feet the ground 
Ye tread with boldness shod ; 

I dare not fix with mete and bound 
The love and power of God. 



fl>oeme for ftbe Iking's 2>augbters 209 

Ye praise His justice ; even such 

His pitying love I deem : 
Ye seek a king ; I fain would touch 

The robe that hath no seam. 

Ye see the curse which overbroods 

A world of pain and loss ; 
I hear our Lord's beatitudes 

And prayer upon the cross. 

More than your schoolmen teach, within 

Myself, alas ! I know ; 
Too dark ye cannot paint the sin, 

Too small the merit show. 

I bow my forehead to the dust, 

I veil mine eyes for shame, 
And urge, in trembling self-distrust, 

A prayer without a claim. 

I see the wrong that round me lies, 

I feel the guilt within ; 
I hear, with groan and travail-cries, 

The world confess its sin. 

Yet, in the maddening maze of things, 
And tossed by storm and flood, 

To one fixed stake my spirit clings ; 
I know that God is good ! 
14 



Sunsbine in Xife 



Not mine to look where cherubim 

And seraphs may not see, 
But nothing can be good in Him 

Which evil is in me. 

The wrong that pains my soul below 

I dare not throne above : 
I know not of His hate, — I know 

His goodness and His love. 

I dimly guess from blessings known 

Of greater out of sight, 
And, with the chastened Psalmist, own 

His judgments too are right. 

I long for household voices gone, 

For vanished smiles I long, 
But God hath led my dear ones on, 

And He can do no wrong. 

I know not what the future hath 

Of marvel or surprise, 
Assured alone that life and death 

His mercy underlies. 

And if my heart and flesh are weak 

To bear an untried pain, 
The bruised reed He will not break, 

But strengthen and sustain. 

No offering of my own I have, 
Nor works my faith to prove ; 



poems for Zhc IRing's Baugbters 211 

I can but give the gifts He gave, 
And plead His love for love. 

And so beside the Silent Sea 

I wait the muffled oar ; 
No harm from Him can come to me 

On ocean or on shore. 

I know not when His islands lift 

Their fronded palms in air ; 
I only know I cannot drift 

Beyond His love and care. 

O brothers ! if my faith is vain, 

If hopes like these betray, 
Pray for me that my feet may gain 

The sure and safer way. 

And Thou, O Iyord ! by whom are seen 

Thy creatures as they be, 
Forgive me if too close I lean 

My human heart on Thee ! 

NAUHAUGHT, THE DEACON. 

Nauhaught, the Indian deacon, who of old 
Dwelt, poor but blameless, where his narrowing 

Cape 
Stretches its shrunk arm out to all the winds 
And the relentless smiting of the waves, 
Awoke one morning from a pleasant dream 



Sunebine in Xife 



Of a good angel dropping in his hand 

A fair, broad gold-piece, in the name of God-. 

He rose and went forth with the early day 
Far inland, where the voices of the waves 
Mellowed and mingled with the whispering leaves, 
As, through the tangle of the low, thick woods, 
He searched his traps. Therein nor beast nor bird 
He found ; though meanwhile in the reedy pools 
The otter plashed, and underneath the pines 
The partridge drummed : and as his thoughts 

went back 
To the sick wife and little child at home, 
What marvel that the poor man felt his faith 
Too weak to bear its burden, — like a rope 
That, strand by strand uncoiling, breaks above 
The hand that grasps it. ' ' Even now, O Lord ! 
Send me, ' ' he prayed, ' ' the angel of my dream ! 
Nauhaught is very poor ; he cannot wait. ' ' 

Bven as he spake he heard at his bare feet 

A low, metallic clink, and, looking down, 

He saw a dainty purse with disks of gold 

Crowding its silken net. Awhile he held 

The treasure up before his eyes, alone 

With his great need, feeling the wondrous coins 

Slide through his eager fingers, one by one. 

So then the dream was true. The angel brought 

One broad piece only ; should he take all these ? 

Who would be wiser, in the blind, dumb woods ? 



Ipoems for ftbe Ifcing's Daugbters 213 

The loser, doubtless rich, would scarcely miss 
This dropped crumb from a table always full. 
Still, while he mused, he seemed to hear the cry 
Of a starved child ; the sick face of his wife 
Tempted him. Heart and flesh in fierce revolt 
Urged the wild license of his savage youth 
Against his later scruples. Bitter toil, 
Prayer, fasting, dread of blame, and pitiless eyes 
To watch his halting, — had he lost for these 
The freedom of the woods ; — the hunting-grounds 
Of happy spirits for a walled-in heaven 
Of everlasting psalms ? One healed the sick 
Very far-off thousands of moons ago : 
Had he not prayed Him night and day to come 
And cure his bed-bound wife ? Was there a hell ? 
Were all his fathers' people writhing there — 
I/ike the poor shell-fish set to boil alive — 
Forever, dying never ? If he kept 
This gold, so needed, would the dreadful God 
Torment him like a Mohawk's captive stuck 
With slow-consuming splinters ? Would the saints 
And the white angels dance and laugh to see him 
Burn like a pitch-pine torch ? His Christian garb 
Seemed falling from him ; with the fear and 

shame 
Of Adam naked at the cool of day, 
He gazed around. A black snake lay in coil 
On the hot sand, a crow with sidelong eye 
Watched from a dead bough. All his Indian lore 
Of evil blending with a convert's faith 



214 Sunsbtne In %ilc 

In the supernal terrors of the Book, 

He saw the Tempter in the coiling snake 

And ominous, black-winged bird ; and all the 

while 
The low rebuking of the distant waves 
Stole in upon him like the voice of God 
Among the trees of Eden. Girding up 
His soul's loins with a resolute hand, he thrust 
The base thought from him : ' ' Nauhaught, be a 

man ! 
Starve, if need be ; but, while you live, look out 
From honest eyes on all men, unashamed. 
God help me ! I am a deacon of the church, 
A baptized, praying Indian ! Should I do 
This secret meanness, even the barken knots 
Of the old trees would turn to eyes to see it, 
The birds would tell of it, and all the leaves 
Whisper above me : ' Nauhaught is a thief ! ' 
The sun would know it, and the stars that hide 
Behind his light would watch me, and at night 
Follow me with their sharp, accusing eyes. 
Yea, Thou, God, seest me ! ' ' Then Nauhaught 

drew 
Closer his belt of leather, dulling thus 
The pain of hunger, and walked bravely back 
To the brown fishing-hamlet by the sea ; 
And, pausing at the inn-door, cheerily asked : 
"Who hath lost aught to-day ? " 

"I," said a voice ; 
' ' Ten golden pieces, in a silken purse, 



IPoems for Zbc Ifcing's Daughters 215 

My daughter's handiwork." He looked, and lo ! 
One stood before him in a coat of frieze, 
And the glazed hat of a seafaring man, 
Shrewd-faced, broad-shouldered, with no trace of 

wings. 
Marvelling, he dropped within the stranger's hand 
The silken web, and turned to go his way. 
But the man said : "A tithe at least is yours ; 
Take it in God's name as an honest man." 
And as the deacon's dusky fingers closed 
Over the golden gift, " Yea in God's name 
I take it, with a poor man's thanks," he said. 

So down the street that, like a river of sand, 
Ran, white in sunshine, to the summer sea, 
He sought his home, singing and praising God ; 
And when his neighbors in their careless way 
Spoke of the owner of the silken purse — 
A Wellfieet skipper, known in every port 
That the Cape opens in its sandy wall — 
He answered, with a wise smile, to himself : 
" I saw the angel where they see a man." 

FROM "SUNSET ON THE BEARCAMP." 

Touched by a light that hath no name, 

A glory never sung, 
Aloft on sky and mountain wall 

Are God's great pictures hung. 



216 Sunsbinc in %ite 



But beauty seen is never lost, 
God's colors all are fast ; 

The glory of this sunset heaven 
Into my soul has passed. 



parfe Benjamin, 

i 809- i 864. 

FROM " PRESS ON." 

Press on ! there 's no such word as fail ; 

Press nobly on ! the goal is near, — 
Ascend the mountain ! breast the gale ! 

I^ook upward, onward, — never fear ! 
"Why should' st thou faint ? Heaven smiles above 

Though storm and vapor intervene ; 
That Sun shines on, whose name is IyOve, 

Serenely o'er life's shadowed scene. 

Press on ! what though upon the ground 

Thy love has been poured out like rain ? 
That happiness is always found 

The sweetest that is born of pain. 
Oft 'mid the forest's deepest glooms, 

A bird sings from some blighted tree ; 
And in the dreariest desert, blooms 

A never-dying rose for thee. 

Therefore, press on ! and reach the goal, 
And gain the prize, and wear the crown ; 



lpoems for £be Ikfns's 2>augbters 217 

Faint not ! for to the steadfast soul 
Come wealth and honor and renown. 

To thine own self be true, and keep 

Thy mind from sloth, thy heart from soil ; 

Press on ! and thou shalt surely reap 
A heavenly harvest for thy toil. 



©liver Wenfcell Ibolmes* 

1809. 

HYMN OF TRUST. 

O I<ove Divine, that stooped to share 
Our sharpest pang, our bitterest tear, 

On Thee we cast each earth-born care, ■ 
We smile at pain while Thou art near ! 

Though long the weary way we tread, 
And sorrow crown each lingering year, 

No path we shun, no darkness dread, 

Our hearts still whispering, Thou art near ! 

When drooping pleasure turns to grief, 
And trembling faith is changed to fear, 

The murmuring wind, the quivering leaf, 
Shall softly tell us, Thou art near ! 

On Thee we fling our burdening woe, 

O Love Divine, forever dear, 
Content to suffer while we know, 

Living and dying, Thou art near ! 



2x3 Sunsbfne in Xffe 

3. 1b. perfetns, 

1810-1849. 

THE UPRIGHT SOUL. 

Iyate to our town there came a maid, 
A noble woman, true and pure, 

Who, in the little while she stayed, 
Wrought works that shall endure. 

It was not anything she said, — 
It was not anything she did : 

It was the movement of her head, 
The lifting of her lid. 

Her little motions when she spoke, 
The presence of an upright soul, 

The living light that from her broke, 
It was the perfect whole : 

We saw it in her floating hair, 
We saw it in her laughing eye ; 

For every look and feature there 
Wrought works that cannot die. 

For she to many spirits gave 
A reverence for the true, the pure, 

The perfect, that has power to save, 
And make the doubting sure. 



Ipoems for Gbe Iking's Daugbters 219 

She passed, she went to other lands, 
She knew not of the work she did ; 

The wondrous product of her hands 
From her is ever hid. 

Forever, did I say ? Oh, no ! 

The time must come when she will look 
Upon her pilgrimage below, 

And find it in God's book, 

That, as she trod her path aright, 
Power from her very garments stole ; 

For such is the mysterious might 
God grants the upright soul. 

A deed, a word, our careless rest, 

A simple thought, a common feeling, 

If He be present in the breast, 
Has from Him power of healing. 

Go, maiden, with thy golden tresses, 
Thine azure eye and changing cheek, 

Go, and forget the one who blesses 
Thy presence through the week. 

Forget him ; he will not forget, 

But strive to live and testify 
Thy goodness, when earth's sun has set, 

And Time itself rolled by. 



Sunsbtne in Xife 



H>aniel G. Goleswortbs. 



A LITTLE WORD IN KINDNESS SPOKEN. 

A little word in kindness spoken, 

A motion or a tear, 
Has often healed the heart that 's broken, 

And made a friend sincere. 

A word, a look, has crushed to earth 

Full many a budding flower, 
Which, had a smile but owned its birth, 

Would bless life's darkest hour. 

Then deem it not an idle thing 

A pleasant word to speak ; 
The face you wear, the thoughts you bring, 

A heart may heal or break. 



TUnfenowm, 

ORIGIN OF THE OPAL. 

A dewdrop came, with a spark of flame 
He had caught from the sun's last ray, 

To a violet's breast, where he lay at rest 
Till the hours brought back the day. 






poems fov XTbe Ifcing's Baugbters 221 

The rose look'd down, with a blush and frown ; 

But she smiled all at once to view 
Her own bright form, with its coloring warm, 

Reflected back by the dew. 

Then the stranger took a stolen look 

At the sky so soft and blue ; 
And a leaflet green, with its silver sheen, 

Was seen by the idler too. 

A cold north wind, as he thus reclined, 

Of a sudden raged around ; 
And a maiden fair, who was walking there, 

Next morning, an opal found. 



H>scbelaC>efc>&fn. 

THE ANSWER. 1 

"Allah, Allah!" cried the sick man, racked 
with pain the long night through ; 

Till with prayer his heart grew tender, till his lips 
like honey grew. 

But at morning came the Tempter ; said, " Call 

louder, child of pain ! 
See if Allah ever hears or answers, ' Here am I,' 

again." 

1 Tholuck's version. Translated by Dr. J. F. Clarke, 
.1810-1888. 



Sunsbine In Xtfe 



Like a stab, the cruel cavil through his brain and 
pulses went ; 

To his heart an icy coldness, to his brain a dark- 
ness sent. 

Then before him stands Elias ; says, ' ' My child, 

why thus dismayed ? 
Dost repent thy former fervor ? Is thy soul of 

prayer afraid ? ' ' 

" Ah ! " he cried, " I 've called so often ; never 

heard the ' Here am I ' ; 
And I thought, God will not pity ; will not turn 

on me His eye." 

Then the grave Elias answered : " God said, 

' Rise, Elias ; go 
Speak to him, the sorely tempted ; lift him from 

his gulf of woe. 

" ' Tell him that his very longing is itself an an- 
swering cry ; 

That his prayer, ' Come, gracious Allah ! ' is my 
answer, ' Here am I ! ' " 

Every inmost aspiration is God's angel unde- 

filed ; 
And in every " O my Father ! " slumbers deep a 

" Here, my child." 



poems for £be IKtng's Daughters 223 

]£li3a 6. Oale. 

1810. 

NIGHT. 

How beautiful the night ! the winds 

Are sleeping calmly, and the moon, full orb'd, 

And radiant as a Queen, majestic walks 

The empyrean, like a thing of life. 

The downy-pinioned zephyrs sweep so soft, — 

So gently o'er the silver-bosom' d sea, 

They do not break its mirror ; and their breath 

So lightly sways the summer foliage, 

Its presence scarce is felt. The sky, 

The deepen' d blue of coming Autumn wears, 

And the stars burn with lustre more intense. 

Silence and gentle peace have stretched their 

wings 
Across the earth and heavens, and sleep, soft 

sleep, 
Has fallen on each breathing thing. 
How beautiful is night ! — more lovely far 
Than gaudy day, the robe of mingled light 
And shade, she wears, and in her majesty, 
And silent grandeur, more impressive far 
The lesson, which she prints upon the heart. 
I love to gaze upon thy shadowy face, 
O Night ! thy glorious coronal of stars ; 
They tell me of a Power, unseen, indeed, 
Yet visible in all His works : a Power, 



224 Sunsbtne in Xire 

Beneficent and wise, whose hand hath wrought 
These wonders all — hath spread the heavens out, 
And curtained them with beauty : — who hath 

given 
The moon its silvery brightness, and the stars 
Their sparkling light ; hath robed His foot-stool, 

earth, 
With its fair garniture of verdant fields 
And flowers, and fashioned every lovely thing 
The eye beholds. And more than this, hath 

given 
To man, an eye to see — a heart that can 
Appreciate the beauty of His works, 
And feast upon their charms. 
And if so much of loveliness adorn 
The earth, where sin hath had dominion, where 
The blighting hand of death hath been with 'ring 
Its fairest flowers — dimming its brightest charms, 
How beautifully fair and glorious 
Must be that better world, where God himself 
Abides ; — where sin and death have never been, 
And wasting and decay shall ne'er be known ! 
If flowers so beauteous are on earth, 
And zephyrs' breath so soft, — if day so bright, 
Transcendant bright appears, and night such 

mild, 
Majestic beauty wears, — how infinitely bright 
And lovely must the scenery be of heaven ! 
The eye of mortal hath not seen, nor can 
His feeble mind a faint conception form, 






Ipoems for Zhc Iftfng'e Baugbters 225 

Of the supernal glory of the place. 
But when we drop these tenements of clay, 
And robes of immortality put on, 
The veil will be withdrawn, and we may gaze 
Upon the dazzling splendors of the throne 
Of God, with an unblenching eye ; — behold 
The living streams, the amaranthine flowers ; 
The tree of life, with rich and varied fruits — 
The seraph-choirs, whose songs of lofty praise 
Re-echo through the sacred realms of bliss, 
And all of beautiful and bright that heaven con- 
tains. 



Ubeofcore parfeer. 

1810-1860. 

THE WAY, THE TRUTH, AND THE LIFE. 

O Thou, great Friend to all the sons of men, 
Who once appeared in humblest guise below, 

Sin to rebuke, to break the captive's chain, 

And call thy brethren forth from want and 
woe, — 

We look to Thee ! Thy truth is still the Light 
Which guides the nations, groping on their 
way, 
Stumbling and falling in disastrous night, 
Yet hoping ever for the perfect day. 
15 



226 Sunsbine in Xife 

Yes ; Thou art still the I4fe, Thou art the Way 
The holiest know ; L4ght, Life, the Way of 
heaven ! 
And they who dearest hope and deepest pray 
Toil by the Light, Life, Way, which Thou hast 
given. 



Tbarriet Beecber Stowe. 



THE OTHER WORLD. 

It lies around us like a cloud, 

A world we do not see ; 
Yet the sweet closing of an eye 

May bring us there to be. 

Its gentle breezes fan our cheek ; 

Amid our worldly cares 
Its gentle voices whisper love, 

And mingle with our prayers. 

Sweet hearts around us throb and beat, 
Sweet helping hands are stirred, 

And palpitates the veil between 
With breathings almost heard. 

The silence, awful, sweet, and calm, 
They have no power to break ; 

For mortal words are not for them 
To utter or partake. 



poems for £be Ikfng's 2>augbtei-0 227 

So thin, so soft, so sweet, they glide, 

So near to press they seem, — 
They lull us gently to our rest, 

And melt into our dream. 

And in the hush of rest they bring 

'T is easy now to see 
How lovely and how sweet a pass 

The hour of death may be ; — 

To close the eye, and close the ear, 

Wrapped in a trance of bliss, 
And, gently drawn in loving arms, 

To swoon to that — from this, — 

Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep, 

Scarce asking where we are, 
To feel all evil sink away, 

All sorrow and all care. 

Sweet souls around us ! watch us still, 

Press nearer to our side ; 
Into our thoughts, into our prayers, 

With gentle helpings glide. 

I^et death between us be as naught, 
A dried and vanished stream ; 

Your joy be the reality, 

Our suffering life the dream. 



228 Sunabfne in %itc 



WHEN I AWAKE I AM STILL WITH THEE. 

Still, still with Thee, when purple morning 
breaketh, 
When the bird waketh and the shadows flee ; 
Fairer than morning, lovelier than the daylight, 
Dawns the sweet consciousness, — / am with 
Thee ! 

Alone with Thee, amid the mystic shadows, 
The solemn hush of nature newly born ; 

Alone with Thee in breathless adoration, 
In the calm dew and freshness of the morn ! 

As in the dawning o'er the waveless ocean, 
The image of the morning star doth rest, 

So in this stillness Thou beholdest only 
Thine image in the waters of my breast. 

Still, still with Thee ! as to each new-born morn- 
ing 
A fresh and solemn splendor still is given, 
So doth this blessed consciousness, awaking, 
Breathe, each daj^, nearness unto Thee and 
heaven. 

When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber, 
Its closing eye looks up to Thee in prayer ; 

Sweet the repose beneath Thy wings o'ershading, 
But sweeter still, to wake and find Thee there. 



lpoeme for XLhe Iftlng's Daugbtere 229 

So shall it be at last, in that bright morning 
When the soul waketh, and life's shadows flee ; 

Oh, in that hour, fairer than daylight dawning, 
Shall rise the glorious thought, — / am with 
Thee ! 

William Ibenrs Burleiob. 

1812-1871. 

THE SONG OF THE MOWERS. 

We are up and away, ere the sunrise hath kissed, 

In the valley below us, that ocean of mist ; 

Ere the tops of the hills have grown bright in its 

ray, 
With our scythes on our shoulders, we 're up and 

away ! 

The freshness and beauty of morning are ours, 
The music of birds, and the fragrance of flowers ; 
And our trail is the first that is seen in the dew, 
As our pathway through orchards and lanes we 
pursue. 

;j< •%. ^ ^c :£ >|< 

Hurrah ! here we are ! now together, as one, 
Give your scythes to the sward, and press stead- 
ily on ; 
All together, as one, o'er the stubble we pass, 
With a swing and a ring of the steel through the 
grass. 



230 Sunsbtne in %ifc 

Before us the clover stands thickly and tall, 

At our left it is piled in a verdurous wall ; 

And never breathed monarch more fragrant per- 
fumes 

Than the sunshine distills from its leaves and its 
blooms. 

Invisible censers around us are swung, 

And anthems exultant from tree-tops are flung ; 

And 'mid fragrance and music and beauty we 

share 
The jubilant life of the earth and the air. 



SUMMER WOODS. 

The ceaseless hum of men, the dusty streets, 
Crowded with multitudinous life ; the dh 
Of toil and traffic, and the woe and sin, 
The dweller in the populous city meets : 
These have I left to seek the cool retreats 
Of the untrodden forest, where, in bowers 
Builded by Nature's hand, inlaid with flowers, 
And roofed with ivy, on the mossy seats 
Reclining, I can while away the hours 
In sweetest converse with old books, or give 
My thoughts to God ; or fancies fugitive 
Indulge, while over me their radiant showers 
Of rarest blossoms the old trees shake down, 
And thanks to Him my meditations crown ! 



lpoems tor Zhc Ikiug's Daughters 231 

William ©olfcsmitb Brown, 

1812. 

A HUNDRED YEARS TO COME. 

Oh, where will be the birds that sing, 

A hundred years to come ? 
The flowers that now in beauty spring, 

A hundred years to come ? 
The rosy lip, the lofty brow, 
The heart that beats so gayly now, 
Oh, where will be love's beaming eye, 
Joy's pleasant smile, and sorrow's sigh, 

A hundred years to come ? 

Who '11 press for gold this crowded street, 

A hundred years to come ? 
Who '11 tread yon church with willing feet, 

A hundred years to come ? 
Pale, trembling age, and fiery youth, 
And childhood with its brow of truth ; 
The rich and poor, on land and sea, 
Where will the mighty millions be 

A hundred years to come ? 

We all within our graves shall sleep 

A hundred years to come ! 
No living soul for us will weep 

A hundred years to come ! 
But other men our lands shall till, 



232 Sunsbinc in Xife 

And others then our streets will fill, 
While other birds will sing as gay, 
As bright the sunshine as to-day 
A hundred years to come. 



Jones Very. 

181 3-1880. 

NATURE. 

The bubbling brook doth leap when I come by, " 

Because my feet find measure with its call, 
The birds know when the friend they love is 
nigh, 
For I am known to them both great and 
small ; 
The flowers that on the lonely hillside grow 
Expect me there when Spring their bloom has 
given ; 
And many a tree and bush my wanderings 
know, 
And e'en the clouds and silent stars of heaven ; 
For he who with his Maker walks aright, 

Shall be their lord, as Adam was before ; 
His ear shall catch each sound with new. delight, 

Bach object wear the dress that then it wore ; 
And he, as when erect in soul he stood, 
Hear from his Father's lips that all is good. 



poems for £be Iking's 2>augbters 233 

BIi3abetb 1b. Timbfttfer. 

1 81 5-1864. 

CHARITY. 

The pilgrim and stranger, who, through the day, 
Holds over the desert his trackless way, 
Where the terrible sands no shade have known, 
No sound of life save his camel's moan, 
Hears, at last, through the mercy of Allah to all, 
From his tent-door, at evening, the Bedouin's call : 
' ' Whoever thou art, whose need is great, 
In the name of God, the Compassionate 
And Merciful One, for thee I wait ! ' ' 

For gifts, in His name, of food and rest, 
The tents of Islam of God are blest. 
Thou, who hast faith in the Christ above, 
Shall the Koran teach thee the Law of Love ? 
O Christian !- — open thy heart and door, — 
Cry, east and west, to the wandering poor, — 
: ' Whoever thou art, whose need is great, 
In the name of Christ, the Compassionate 
And Merciful One, for thee I wait ! ' ' 

THE MEETING WATERS. 

Close beside the meeting waters, 
Long I stood as in a dream, 

Watching how the little river 
Fell into the broader stream. 



234 Suns bine in %itc 

Calm and still the mingled current 
Glided to the waiting sea ; 

On its breast serenely pictured 
Floating cloud and skirting tree. 



And I thought : " O human spirit ! 

Strong and deep and pure and blest, 
L,et the stream of my existence 

Blend with thine, and find its rest ! ' 

I could die as dies the river, 
In that current deep and wide ; 

I would live as lives its waters, . 
Flashing from a stronger tide ! 



^Unknown. 

HEARTS THAT -HUNGER. 

Some hearts go hungering through the world, 

And never find the love they seek ; 
Some lips with pride or scorn are curled, 

To hide the pain they may not speak ; 
The eye may flash, the mouth may smile, 

The voice in gladdest music thrill, 
And yet beneath them all the while, 

The hungry heart be pining still. 

O eager eyes which gaze afar ! 

O arms which clasp the empty air, 






fl>oems for XLhe lfttncj'0 Baugbtere 235 

Not all unmarked your sorrows are, 

Not all unpitied your despair. 
Smile, patient lips, so proudly dumb ; 

When life's frail tent at last is furled, 
Your glorious recompense shall come, 

O hearts that hunger through the world. 



5obn G. Sase. 

1816-1887. 

THE TWO ANGELS. 

AN ALLEGORY. 

Two wandering angels, Sleep and Death. 

Once met in sunny weather ; 
And while the twain were taking breath, 

They held discourse together. 

Quoth Sleep (whose face, though twice as fair, 
Was strangely like the other's, — 

So like, in sooth, that anywhere 

They might have passed for brothers) : 

' ' A busy life is mine, I trow ; 

Would I were omnipresent ! 
So fast and far have I to go ; 

And yet my work is pleasant. 

' ' I cast my potent poppies forth, 
And lo, — the cares that cumber 



236 Sunsbine in Xife 

The toiling, suffering sons of earth 
Are drowned in sweetest slumber. 

" The student rests his weary brain, 
And waits the fresher morrow ; 

I ease the patient of his pain, 
The mourner of his sorrow. 

' ' I bar the gates where cares abide, 

And open Pleasure's portals 
To visioned joys ; thus, far and wide, 

I earn the praise of mortals." 

"Alas ! " replied the other, "mine 

Is not a task so grateful ; 
Howe'er to mercy I incline, 

To mortals I am hateful. 

" They call me ' Kill-joy,' every one, 

And speak in sharp detraction 
Of all I do ; yet have I done 

Full many a kindly action." 

" True ! " answered Sleep, "but all the while 

Thine office is berated, 
'T is only by the weak and vile 

That thou art feared and hated. 

' ' And though thy work on earth has given 

To all a shade of sadness ; 
Consider — every saint in heaven 

Remembers thee with gladness ! ' ' 






poems for tlbe lkfng'0 2>augbters 237 

William B. Cbannino. 

1818. 

SLEEPY HOLLOW. 

No abbey's gloom, nor dark cathedral stoops, 
No winding torches paint the midnight air ; 

Here the green pines delight, the aspen droops, 
Along the modest pathways, and those fair 

Pale asters of the season spread their plumes 

Around this field, fit garden for our tombs. 

And shalt thou pause to hear some funeral bell 
Slow stealing o'er thy heart in this calm place, 

Not with a throb of pain, a feverish knell, 
But in its kind and supplicating grace, 

It says, Go, pilgrim, on thy march, be more 

Friend to the friendless than thou wast before ; 

L/earn from the loved one's rest serenity ; 

To-morrow that soft bell for thee shall sound, 
And thou repose beneath the whispering tree, 

One tribute more to this submissive ground ; 
Prison thy soul from malice, bar out pride, 
Nor these pale flowers nor this still field deride : 

Rather to those ascents of being turn, 

When a ne'er-setting sun illumes the year 

Eternal, and the incessant watch-fires burn 
Of unspent holiness and goodness clear, — 

Forget man's littleness, deserve the best, 

God's mercy in thy thought and life confest. 



238 Sunsblne in 3Life 

Ibarriet TKiltnslow Sewall. 

1819-1889. 

WHY THUS LONGING? 

Why thus longing, thus forever sighing, 
For the far-off, unattained, and dim, 

While the beautiful, all round thee lying, 
Offers up its low, perpetual hymn ? 

Wouldst thou listen to its gentle teaching, 
All thy restless yearnings it would still ; 

L,eaf and flower and laden bee are preaching 
Thine own sphere, though humble, first to fill. 

Poor indeed thou must be, if around thee 
Thou no ray of light and joy canst throw ; 

If no silken cord of love hath bound thee 
To some little world through weal and woe ; 

If no dear eyes thy fond love can brighten, 
No fond voices answer to thine own ; 

If no brother's sorrow thou canst lighten 
By daily sympathy and gentle tone. 

Not by deeds that win the crowd's applauses. 
Not b)^ works that give thee world-renown, 

Not by martyrdom or vaunted crosses, 

Canst thou win and wear the immortal crown. 

Daily struggling, though unloved and lonely, 
Bvery day a rich reward will give ; 






poeme for Gbe IRing's Daughters 239 

Thou wilt find, by hearty striving only, 
And truly loving, thou canst truly live. 

Dost thou revel in the rosy morning, 
When all nature hails the lord of light, 

And his smile, nor low nor lofty scorning, 
Gladdens hall and hovel, vale and height? 

Other hands may grasp the field and forest, 
Proud proprietors in pomp may shine ; 

But with fervent love if thou adorest, 
Thou art wealthier, — all the world is thine. 

Yet if through earth's wide domains thou rovest, 
Sighing that they are not thine alone, 

Not those fair fields, but thyself, thou lovest, 
And their beauty and thy wealth are gone. 



TUnfenown. 

THE SACRIFICE OF THE WILL. 
"Thy Will Be Done." 

L,aid on Thine altar, O my IyOrd divine, 
Accept my gift this day, for Jesu's sake. 

I have no jewels to adorn Thy shrine, 
Nor any world-famed sacrifice to make ; 

But here I bring, within my trembling hand, 
This will of mine — a thing that seemeth small. 



240 Sunsbinc in Xtfe 

And Thou alone, O L,ord, canst understand 

How, when I yield Thee this, I yield mine all. 
Hidden therein, Thy searching gaze can see 

Struggles of passion — visions of delight — 
All that I have, or am, or fain would be, — 

Deep loves, fond hopes, and longings infinite ; 
It hath been wet with tears, and dimmed with 

sighs, 
Clenched in my grasp till beauty hath it none ; 
Now from Thy footstool where it vanquished lies, 

The prayer ascendeth, ' ' May Thy will be done. ' ' 
Take it, O Father, ere my courage fail, 

And merge it so in Thine own will, that e'en 
If in some desperate hour my cries prevail, 

And Thou give me my gift, it may have been 
So changed, so purified, so fair have grown, 

So one with Thee, so filled with peace divine, 
I may not know or feel it as mine own — 

But gaining back my will, may find it Thine. 



3ames IRussell Xowell. 

1819. 

YUSSOUF. 

A stranger came one night to Yussouf 's tent, 
Saying : ' ' Behold one outcast and in dread, 

Against whose life the bow of power is bent, 
Who flies, and hath not where to lay his head ; 



poems for XTbe Iking's IDaugbters 241 

I come to thee for shelter and for food, 
To Yussouf, called through all our tribes ' The 
Good.' " 

" This tent is mine," said Yussouf, "but no more 
Than it is God's ; come in, and be at peace ; 

Freely shalt thou partake of all my store 
As I of His who buildeth over these 

Our tents His glorious roof of night and day, 

And at whose door none ever yet heard Nay. ' ' 

So Yussouf entertained his guest that night, 
And, waking him ere day, said : ' ' Here is gold ; 

My swiftest horse is saddled for thy flight ; 
Depart before the prying day grow bold. ' ' 

As one lamp lights another, nor grows less, 

So nobleness enkindleth nobleness. 

That inward light the stranger's face made grand, 
Which shines from all self-conquest ; kneeling 
low, 

He bowed his forehead upon Yussouf 's hand, 
Sobbing : " O Sheik, I cannot leave thee so ; 

I will repay thee ; all this thou hast done 

Unto that Ibrahim who slew thy son ! " 

" Take thrice the gold," said Yussouf, " for with 

thee 

Into the desert, never to return, 
16 



242 Sunsbine in Xife 

My one black thought shall ride away from me ; 
First-born, for whom by day and night I yearn, 
Balanced and just are all of God's decrees ; 
Thou art avenged, my first-born, sleep in peace ! ' ' 

THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL. 
From " Prelude to Part First." 

'T is heaven alone that is given away, 
'T is only God may be had for the asking ; 
No price is set on the lavish summer ; 
June may be had by the poorest comer. 

And what is so rare as a day in June ? 
Then, if ever, come perfect days ; 
Then heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, 
And over it softly her warm ear lays. 
Whether we look, or whether we listen, 
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten. 



Now is the high-tide of the year, 
And whatever of life hath ebbed away 
Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer, 
Into every bare inlet and creek and bay ; 
Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it ; 
We are happy now because God wills it ; 
No matter how barren the past may have been, 
'T is enough for us now that the leaves are green ; 



fl>oems for XLbe Iking's 2>augbters 243 

We sit in the warm shade and feel right well 
How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell ; 
We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help know- 
ing 
That skies are clear and grass is growing ; 
The breeze comes whispering in our ear 
That dandelions are blossoming near, 
That maize has sprouted, that streams are flow- 
ing, 
That the river is bluer than the sky, 
That the robin is plastering his house hard by ; 
And if the breeze kept the good Hews back, 
For other couriers we should not lack. 

From "Part First." 

As Sir L^aunfal made morn through the darksome 

gate, 
He was 'ware of a leper, crouched by the same, 
Who begged with his hand and moaned as he 

sate ; 
And a loathing over Sir I^aunfal came ; 
The sunshine went out of his soul with a thrill, 
The flesh 'neath his armor 'gan shrink and crawl, 
And midway its leap his heart stood still 
Iyike a frozen waterfall ; 
For this man, so foul and bent of stature, 
Rasped harshly against his dainty nature, 
And seemed the one blot on the summer morn, — 
So he tossed him a piece of gold in scorn. 



244 Sunsbine in Xife 

The leper raised not the gold from the dust : 

" Better to me the poor man's crust, 

Better the blessing of the poor, 

Though I turn me empty from his door ; 

That is no true alms which the hand can hold ; 

He gives nothing but worthless gold 

Who gives from a sense of duty ; 

But he who gives a slender mite, 

And gives to that which is out of sight, 

That thread of the all-sustaining beauty 

Which runs through all and doth all unite, — 

The hand cannot clasp the whole of his alms, 

The heart outstretches its eager palms, 

For a God goes with it and makes it store 

To the soul that was starving in darkness before." 

From " Part Second." 

Sir Launfal said : "I behold in thee 
An image of Him who died on the tree ; 
Thou also hast had thy crown of thorns, — 
Thou also hast had the world's buffets and 

scorns, — 
And to thy life were not denied 
The wounds in the hands and feet and side : 
Mild Mary's Son, acknowledge me ; 
Behold, through him, I give to Thee ! " 

Then the soul of the leper stood up in his eyes 
And looked at Sir L,aunfal, and straightway he 



poems tor ZTbe IKfng's Daughters 245 

Remembered in what a haughtier guise 
He had flung an alms to leprosie, 
When he girt his young life up in gilded mail 
And set forth in search of the Holy Grail. 
The heart within him was ashes and dust ; 
He parted in twain his single crust, 
He broke the ice in the streamlet's brink, 
And gave the leper to eat and drink, 
'T was a mouldy crust of coarse brown bread, 
'T was water out of a wooden bowl, — 
Yet with fine wheaten bread was the leper fed, 
And 't was red wine he drank with his thirsty 
soul. 

As Sir I^aunfal mused with downcast face, 

A light shone round about the place ; 

The leper no longer crouched at his side, 

But stood before him glorified, 

Shining and tall and fair and straight 

As the pillar that stood by the Beautiful Gate, 

Himself the gate whereby men can 

Enter the temple of God in man. 

His words were shed softer than leaves from the 

pine, 
And they fell on Sir L,aunfal as snows on the 

brine, 
Which mingle their softness and quiet in one 
With the shaggy unrest they float down upon ; 
And the voice that was calmer than silence said : 



246 Sunsbtne In Xife 

" IyO, it is I, be not afraid ! 

In many climes, without avail, 

Thou hast spent thy life for the Holy Grail ; 

Behold it is here, — this cup which thou 

Didst fill at the streamlet for me but now ; 

This crust is my body broken for thee, 

This water his blood that died on the tree ; 

The holy supper is kept, indeed, 

In whatso we share with another's need ; 

Not what we give, but what we share, — 

For the gift without the giver is bare ; 

Who gives himself with his alms feeds three, - 

Himself, his hungering neighbor, and me." 

FROM " MY LOVE." 

She doeth little kindnesses, 

Which most leave undone, or despise : 
For naught that sets one heart at ease, 
And giveth happiness or peace, 

Is low-esteemed in her eyes. 

She hath no scorn of common things, 

And, though she seem of other birth, 
Round us her heart entwines and clings, 
And patiently she folds her wings 
To tread the humble paths of earth. 



poems tot Zfoc IKfng's 2>augbters 247 

Samuel XortGfellow. 

1819. 

LOOKING UNTO GOD. 

" God's hand in all things, and all things in God's 
hand." 

I look to Thee in every need, 

And never look in vain ; 
I feel Thy touch, Kternal L,ove, 

And all is well again ; 
The thought of Thee is mightier far 
Than sin and pain and sorrow are. 

Discouraged in the work of life, 

Disheartened by its load, 
Shamed by its failures or its fears, 

I sink beside the road ; — 
But let me only think of Thee, 
And then new heart springs up in me. 

Thy calmness bends serene above, 

My restlessness to still ; 
Around me flows Thy quickening life 

To nerve my faltering will ; 
Thy presence fills my solitude, 
Thy providence turns all to good. 

Embosomed deep in Thy dear love, 

Held in Thy law, I stand ; 
Thy hand in all things I behold, 

And all things in Thy hand ; 
Thou leadest me by unsought ways, 
And turn'st my mourning into praise. 



248 Sunsbine in Xife 

Tllnfenown, 

POEMS UNWRITTEN. 

There are poems unwritten and songs unsung, 

Sweeter than any that ever were heard — 
Poems that wait for an angel tongue, 

Songs that but long for a paradise bird. 
Poems that ripple through lowliest lives, 

Poems unnoted and hidden away 
Down in the soul where the beautiful thrives, 

Sweetly as flowers in the airs of the May. 
Poems that only the angels above us, 

looking down deep in our hearts may behold, 
Felt, though unseen, by the beings who love us, 

Written on lives as in letters of gold. 
Sing to my soul the sweet song that thou livest ! 

Read me the poem that never was penned — 
The wonderful idyl of life that thou givest 

Fresh from thy spirit, oh, beautiful friend ! 



Sosiab Gilbert 1bollanfc>. 

1819-1881. 

GRADATIM. 

Heaven is not reached at a single bound ; 
But we build the ladder by which we rise 
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, 

And we mount to its summit round by round. 






poems for tTbe Iktng's 2>augbters 249 

I count this thing to be grandly true : 
That a noble deed is a step toward God, 
Lifting the soul from the common clod 

To a purer air and a broader view. 

We rise by the things that are under feet ; 
By what we have mastered of good and gain, 
By the pride deposed and passion slain, 

And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet. 

We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust, 
When the morning calls us to life and light ; 
But our hearts grow weary, and ere the night 

Our lives are trailing the sordid dust. 

We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray, 

And we think that we mount the air on wings 
Beyond the recall of sensual things, 

While our feet still cling to the heavy clay. 

Wings for the angels, but feet for men ! 

We may borrow the wings to find the way — 
We may hope, and resolve, and aspire, and 
pray, 

But our feet must rise, or we fall again. 

Only in dreams is a ladder thrown 

From the weary earth to the sapphire walls ; 

But the dreams depart and the vision falls, 
And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone. 



Sunsbine in %itc 



Heaven is not reached at a single bound ; 
But we build the ladder by which we rise 
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, 

And we mount to its summit round by round. 



THE HYMN. 
From "Bitter-Sweet." 

For summer's bloom and autumn's blight, 
For bending wheat and blasted maize, 

For health and sickness, Lord of light, 
And Lord of darkness, hear our praise ! 

We trace to Thee our joys and woes, — 
To Thee of causes still the cause, — 

We thank Thee that Thy hand bestows ; 
We bless Thee that Thy love withdraws. 

We bring no sorrows to Thy throne ; 

We come to Thee with no complaint. 
In providence Thy will is done, 

And that is sacred to the saint. 

Here, on this blest Thanksgiving night, 
We raise to Thee our grateful voice ; 

For what thou doest, Lord, is right ; 
And, thus believing, we rejoice. 



lpoems for Zhc IRlng's Daughters 251 

Hnne C* X^ncb "Botta. 

1820-1891. 

THOUGHTS IN A LIBRARY. 

Speak low ! tread softly through these halls ; 

Here Genius lives enshrined ; 
Here reign, in silent majesty, 

The monarchs of the mind. 

A mighty spirit-host they come 

From every age and clime ; 
Above the buried wrecks of years 

They breast the tide of time. 

And in their presence-chamber here 

They hold their regal state, 
And round them throng a noble train, 

The gifted and the great. 

O child of Earth ! when round thy path 

The storms of life arise, 
And when thy brothers pass thee by 

With stern, unloving eyes, 

Here shall the poets chant for thee 

Their sweetest, loftiest lays, 
And prophets wait to guide thy steps 

In Wisdom's pleasant ways. 

Come, with these God- anointed kings 

Be thou companion here ; 
And in the mighty realm of mind 

Thou shalt go forth a peer ! 



J52 Sunsbfne in Xife 

LOVE. 

Go forth in life, O friend ! not seeking love, 

A mendicant that with imploring eye 

And outstretched hand asks of the passers-by 

The alms his strong necessities may move : 

For such poor love, to pity near allied, 

Thy generous spirit may not stoop and wait, 

A suppliant whose prayer may be denied 

Like a spurned beggar's at a palace-gate : 
But thy heart' s affluence lavish uncontrolled, — 
The largess of thy love give full and free, 
As monarchs in their progress scatter gold ; 
And be thy heart like the exhaustless sea, 
That must its wealth of cloud and dew bestow, 
Though tributary streams or ebb or flow. 



EIi3a Scufcfcer. 

1821. 

THE LOVE OF GOD. 

Thou Grace Divine, encircling all, 
A soundless, shoreless sea ! 

Wherein at last our souls must fall, 
O Dove of God most free ! 

When over dizzy heights we go, 
One soft hand blinds our eyes, 

The other leads us, safe and slow, 
O Dove of God most wise ! 



Ipoems for ftbe fdncj'e Daughters 253 

And though we turn us from Thy face, 

And wander wide and long, 
Thou hold' st us still in thine embrace, 

O Love of God most strong ! 

The saddened heart, the restless soul, 

The toil-worn frame and mind, 
Alike confess Thy sweet control, 

O Love of God most kind ! 

But not alone Thy care we claim 

Our wayward steps to win ; 
We know Thee by a dearer name, 

O Love of God within ! 

And filled and quickened by Thy breath, 

Our souls are strong and free 
To rise o'er sin and fear and death, 

O Love of God, to Thee ! 



"Glnfenown. 

BETWEEN THE LIGHTS. 

A little pause in life — while daylight lingers 
Between the sunset and the pale moonrise, 

When daily labor slips from weary fingers, 
And calm, gray shadows veil the aching eyes. 

Old perfumes wander back from fields of clover, 
Seen in the light of stars that long have set ; 

Beloved ones, whose earthly trial is over, 
Draw near as if they lived among us yet. 



254 Sunsbine in %itc 

Old voices call me — through the dusk returning 

I hear the echo of departed feet ; 
And then I ask, with vain and troubled yearning : 

' ' What is the charm which makes old things 
so sweet ? ' ' 

Must the old joys be evermore withholden ? 

Even their memory keeps me pure and true ; 
And yet from our Jerusalem the golden 

God speaketh, saying : "I make all things 
new. ' ' 

' ' Father, ' ' I cry, ' ' the old must still be nearer ; 

Stifle my love or give me back the past ; 
Give me the fair old fields, whose paths are dearer 

Than all Thy shining streets and mansions 

vast." 

Peace ! peace ! the Iyord of earth and heaven 
knoweth 

The human soul in all its heat and strife ; 
Out of His throne no stream of L,ethe floweth, 

"But the pure river of eternal life. 

He giveth life, ay, life in all its sweetness ; 

Old loves, old sunny scenes will He restore ; 
Only the curse of sin and incompleteness 

Shall vex thy soul and taint thine earth no more. 

Serve Him in daily toil and holy living, 

And Faith shall lift thee to His sunlit heights ; 

Then shall a psalm of gladness and thanksgiving 
Fill the calm hour that comes between the lights. 



Ipoems for £be Iking's ©augbters 255 

/IDarfa WMte Xowell. 

1821-1853. 

THE ALPINE SHEEP. 

When on my ear your loss was knelled, 

And tender sympathy upburst, 
A little spring from memory welled, 

Which once had quenched my bitter thirst. 

And I was fain to bear to you 

A portion of its mild relief, 
That it might be as healing dew, 

To steal some fever from your grief. 

After our child's untroubled breath 

Up to the Father took its way, 
And on our home the shade of Death 

Like a long twilight haunting lay, 

And friends came round, with us to weep 

Her little spirit's swift remove, 
The story of the Alpine sheep 

Was told to us by one we love. 

They, in the valley's sheltering care, 
Soon crop the meadow's tender prime, 

And when the sod grows brown and bare, 
The shepherd strives to make them climb 

To airy shelves of pasture green, 

That hang along the mountain's side, 

Where grass and flowers together lean, 

And down through mist the sunbeams slide. 



256 Sunsbine In %itc 

But naught can tempt the timid things 
The steep and rugged paths to try, 

Though sweet the shepherd calls and sings, 
And seared below the pastures lie, 

Till in his arms their lambs he takes, 

Along the dizzy verge to go ; 
Then, heedless of the rifts and breaks, 

They follow on, o'er rock and snow. 

And in those pastures, lifted fair, 
More dewy-soft than lowland mead, 

The shepherd drops his tender care, 
And sheep and lambs together feed. 

This parable, by Nature breathed, 
Blew on me as the south- wind free 

O'er frozen brooks, that flow unsheathed 
From icy thraldom to the sea. 

A blissful vision, through the night, 
Would all my happy senses sway, 

Of the good Shepherd on the height, 
Or climbing up the starry way, 

Holding our little lamb asleep, — 
"While, like the murmur of the sea, 

Sounded that voice along the deep, 
Saying : ' ' Arise and follow me ! ' ' 



poems for Zhc IRtng's Daughters 257 

mice Cars. 

1820-1871. 

FROM "GOD IS LOVE." 

Ah, there are mighty things under the sun, 
Great deeds have been acted, great words have 
been said, 

Not just uplifting some fortunate one, 

But lifting up all men the more by a head. 

Aye, the more by the head, and the shoulders 
too! 
Ten thousand may sin, and a thousand may 
fall, 
And it may have been me, and it yet may be you, 
But the angel in one proves the angel in all. 

And whatever is mighty, whatever is high, 
Lifting men, lifting women their natures above, 

And close to the kinship they hold to the sky, 
Why, this I affirm, that its essence is love. 

NOBILITY. 

True worth is in being, not seeming, — 

In doing each day that goes by 
Some little good — not in the dreaming 

Of great things to do by and by. 
For whatever men say in blindness, 

And spite of the fancies of youth, 
There 's nothing so kingly as kindness, 

And nothing so royal as truth. 
17 



258 Sunsbinc in Xife 

We get back our mete as we measure — 

We cannot do wrong and feel right, 
Nor can we give pain and gain pleasure, 

For justice avenges each slight. 
The air for the wing of the sparrow, 

The bush for the robin and wren, 
But alway the path that is narrow 

And straight, for the children of men. 

'T is not in the pages of story 

The heart of its ills to beguile, 
Though he who makes courtship to glory 

Gives all that he hath for her smile. 
For when from her heights he has won her, 

Alas ! it is only to prove 
That nothing 's so sacred as honor, 

And nothing so loyal as love ! 

We cannot make bargains for blisses, 

Nor catch them like fishes in nets ; 
And sometimes the thing our life misses, 

Helps more than the thing which it gets. 
For good lieth not in pursuing, 

Nor gaining of great nor of small, 
But just in the doing and doing 

As we would be done by, is all. 

Through envy, through malice, through hating, 

Against the world, early and late, 
No jot of our courage abating — 



lpoeme for Zhc Ifttng's ©augbtere 259 

Our part is to work and to wait. 
And slight is the sting of his trouble 

Whose winnings are less than his worth ; 
For he who is honest is noble, 

Whatever his fortunes or birth. 



pboebe Gar}?, 

1824-1871. 

OVER-PAYMENT. 

I took a little good seed in my hand, 
And cast it tearfully upon the land ; 
Saying, of this the fowls of heaven shall eat, 
Or the sun scorch it with his burning heat. 

Yet I, who sowed, oppressed by doubts and fears, 
Rejoicing gathered in the ripened ears ; 
For when the harvest turned the fields to gold, 
Mine yielded back to me a thousand-fold. 

A little child begged humbly at my door ; 
Small was the gift I gave her, being poor, 
But let my heart go with it : therefore we 
Were both made richer by that charity. 

My soul with grief was darkened, I was bowed 
Beneath the shadow of an awful cloud ; 
When one, whose sky was wholly overspread, 
Came to me asking to be comforted. 



260 Sunabtne In %itc 

It roused me from my weak and selfish fears ; 
It dried my own to dry another's tears ; 
The bow, to which I pointed in his skies, 
Set all my cloud with sweetest promises. 

Once, seeing the inevitable way 

My feet must tread, through difficult places lay, — 

I cannot go alone, I cried, dismayed — 

I faint, I fail, I perish, without aid ! 

Yet, when I looked to see if help were nigh, 
A creature weaker, wretcheder than I, 
One on whose head life's fiercest storms had beat, 
Clung to my garments, falling at my feet. 

I saw, I paused no more : my courage found, 
I stooped and raised her gently from the ground : 
Through every peril safe I passed at length, 
For she who leaned upon me gave me strength. 

Once, when I hid my wretched self from Him, 
My Father's brightness seemed withdrawn and 

dim ; 
But when I lifted up mine eyes I learned 
His face to those who seek is always turned. 

A half-unwilling sacrifice I made : 
Ten thousand blessings on my head were laid ; 
I asked a comforting spirit to descend : 
God made himself my comforter and friend. 



poems for ftbe "Ring's 2>augbters 261 

I sought His mercy in a faltering prayer, 
And lo ! His infinite tenderness and care, 
Like a great sea, that hath no ebbing tide, 
Encompassed me with love on every side ! 

LITTLE GOTTLIEB. 
A Christmas Story. 

Across the German Ocean, 

In a country far from our own, 
Once a poor little boy, named Gottlieb, 

Lived with his mother alone. 

They dwelt in the part of a village 

Where the houses were poor and small, 

But the house of little Gottlieb 
Was the poorest one of all. 

He was not large enough to work, 

And his mother could no more 
(Though she scarcely laid her knitting down) 

Than keep the wolf from the door. 

She had to take their threadbare clothes, 
And turn, and patch, and darn ; 

For never any woman yet 
Grew rich by knitting yarn. 

And oft at night beside her chair 
Would Gottlieb sit, and plan 



262 Sunsbine in Xitc 

The wonderful things he would do for her 
When he grew to be a man. 

One night she sat and knitted, 
And Gottlieb sat and dreamed, 

When a happy fancy all at once 
Upon his vision beamed. 

'T was only a week till Christmas, 
And Gottlieb knew that then 

The Christ-child, who was born that day, 
Sent down good gifts to men. 

But he said : ' ' He will never find us, 
Our home is so mean and small. 

And we, who have most need of them, 
Will get no gifts at all." 

When all at once a happy light 

Came into his eyes so blue, 
And lighted up his face with smiles, 

As he thought what he could do. 

Next day, when the postman's letters 
Came from all over the land, 

Came one for the Christ-child, written 
In a child's poor trembling hand. 

You may think he was sorely puzzled 

What in the world to do ; 
So he went to the Burgomaster, 

As the wisest man he knew. 



lpoems for tlbe Iking's ©augbters 263 

And when they opened the letter, 

They stood almost dismayed 
That such a little child should dare 

To ask the Lord for aid. 

Then the Burgomaster stammered, 
And scarce knew what to speak, 

And hastily he brushed aside 

A drop, like a tear, from his cheek. 

Then up he spoke right gruffly, 

And turned himself about : 
' ' This must be a very foolish boy, 

And a small one, too, no doubt." 

But when six rosy children 
That night about him pressed, 

Poor, trusting little Gottlieb 
Stood near him with the rest. 

And he heard his simple, touching prayer, 
Through all their noisy play ; 

Though he tried his very best to put 
The thought of him away. 

A wise and learned man was he, 
Men called him good and just ; 

But his wisdom seemed like foolishness, 
By that weak child's simple trust. 



264 Suns bine in Xife 

Now when the morn of Christmas came 
And the long, long week was done, 

Poor Gottlieb, who scarce could sleep, 
Rose up before the sun, 

And hastened to his mother, 

But he scarce might speak for fear, 

When he saw her wondering look, and saw 
The Burgomaster near. 

He was n't afraid of the Holy Babe, 
Nor his mother, meek and mild ; 

But he felt as if so great a man 
Had never been a child. 

Amazed the poor child looked, to find 
The hearth was piled with wood, 

And the table, never full before, 
Was heaped with dainty food. 

Then half to hide from himself the truth, 

The Burgomaster said, 
While the mother blessed him on her knees, 

And Gottlieb shook for dread : 

" Nay, give no thanks, my good dame, 

To such as me for aid ; 
Be grateful to your little son, 

And the Lord to whom he prayed ! ' ' 



lpoems for Zbe IRing's 2)augbters 265 

Then, turning round to Gottlieb : 

' ' Your written prayer, you see, 
Came not to whom it was addressed, 

It only came to me ! 

" 'T was but a foolish thing you did, 

As you must understand ; 
For though the gifts are yours, you know, 

You have them from my hand. ' ' 

Then Gottlieb answered fearlessly, 

Where he humbly stood apart : 
' ' But the Christ-child sent them all the same, 

He put the thought in your heart ! ' ' 



Caroline H. /Ifcason. 

1823-1890. 

WAKING. 

I have done, at length, with dreaming ; 

Henceforth, O thou soul of mine, 
Thou must take up sword and gauntlet, 

Waging warfare most divine. 
Iyife is struggle, combat, victory — 

Wherefore have I slumbered on 
With my forces all unmarshalled, 

With my weapons all undrawn ? 
Oh, how many a glorious record 

Had the angels of me kept, 
Had I done instead of doubted, 

Had I warred instead of wept ! 



Sunsbine in TLite 



But, begone ! regret, bewailing, 

Ye but weaken at the best ; 
I have tried the trusty weapons 

Resting erst within my breast ; 
I have wakened to my duty, 

To a knowledge strong and deep, 
That I dreamed not of aforetime, 

In my long, inglorious sleep ; 
For to live is something awful, 

And I knew it not before ; 
And I dreamed not how stupendous 

Was the secret that I bore — 
The great, deep, mysterious secret 

Of a life to be wrought out 
Into warm, heroic action, 

Weakened not by fear or doubt. 
In this subtle sense of living, 

Newly stirred in every vein, 
I can feel a throb electric, 

Pleasure half-allied to pain. 
'T is so great — and yet so awful — 

So bewildering, yet so brave, 
To be a king in every conflict, 

When before I crouched a slave ; 
'T is so glorious to be conscious 

Of a growing power within, 
Stronger than the rallying forces 

Of a charged and marshalled sin ; 
Never in those old romances, 

Felt I half the sense of life, 



Ipoems for Qhe Ikfng's Daughters 267 

That I feel within me stirring, 

Standing in the place of strife. 
Oh, those olden days of dalliance, 

When I wantoned with my fate, 
When I trifled with a knowledge 

That has wellnigh come too late ; 
Yet, my soul, look not behind thee, 

Thou hast work to do at last ; 
I^et the brave toil of the Present 

Overarch the crumbling Past ; 
Build thy great acts high, and higher, 

Build them on the conquered sod 
Where thy weakness first fell bleeding, 

And thy first prayer rose to God. 



ZEbomas Wentwortb Ibigginson. 

1823. 

/ESTIS ANGELICA. 

[It was a custom of the early English Church for 
pious laymen to be carried in the hour of death to some 
monastery, that they might be clothed in the habit of the 
religious order and might die amid the prayers of the 
brotherhood. The garment thus assumed was known 
as the Vestis Angelica. — See Moroni: " Dizionario di 
Erudizione Storico-Ecclesiastica, " ii., 78; xcvi., 212.] 

O gather, gather ! Stand 
Round her on either hand ! 
Ye shining angel-band 

More pure than priest ; 



268 Sunsbine in Xife 

A garment white and whole 
Weave for this passing soul, 
Whose earthly joy and dole 
Have almost ceased. 

Weave it of mothers' prayers, 
Of sacred thoughts and cares, 
Of peace beneath gray hairs, 

Of hallowed pain ; 
Weave it of vanished tears, 
Of childlike hopes and fears, 
Of joys, by saintly years 

Washed free from stain. 

Weave it of happy hours, 

Of smiles and summer flowers, 

Of passing sunlit showers, 

Of acts of love, 
Of pathways that did go 
Amid life's work and woe ; 
— Her eyes still fixed below, 

Her thoughts above. 

Then, as those eyes grow dim, 
Chant ye her best-loved hymn, 
While from yon church tower's brim 

A soft chime swells. 
Her freed soul floats in bliss 
To unseen worlds from this, 
Nor knows in which it is 

She hears the bells. 



lpoeme for XLbc lktng'5 ©augbters 269 
XHnfenown. 

HAST THOU WITHIN A CARE SO DEEP? 

Hast thou within a care so deep, 
It chases from thine eyelids sleep ? 
To thy Redeemer take that care, 
And change anxiety to prayer. 

Hast thou a hope with which thy heart 
Would almost feel it death to part ? 
Entreat thy God that hope to crown, 
Or give thee strength to lay it down. 

Hast thou a friend whose image dear 
May prove an idol worshipped here ? 
Implore the Lord that naught may be 
A shadow between Heaven and thee. 

Whate'er the care that breaks thy rest, 
Whate'er the wish that swells thy breast, 
Spread before God that wish, that care, 
And change anxiety to prayer. 



Hbeline B. XT. TKlibitne^ 

1824. 

EQUINOCTIAL. 

The sun of life has crossed the line ; 

The summer-shine of lengthened light 
Faded and failed, till where I stand 

'T is equal day and equal night. 



270 Sunsbine fn Xife 

One after one, as dwindling hours, 

Youth's glowing hopes have dropped away, 

And soon may barely leave the gleam 
That coldly scores a winter's day. 

I am not young ; I am not old ; . 

The flush of morn, the sunset calm, 
Paling and deepening, each to each, 

Meet midway with a solemn charm. 

One side I see the summer fields 
Not yet disrobed of all their green ; 

While westerly, along the hills 

Flame the first tints of frosty sheen. 

Ah, middle point, where cloud and storm 
Make battle-ground of this ; my life ! 

"Where, even matched, the night and day 
Wage round me their September strife ! 

I bow me to the threatening gale : 

I know when that is over past, 
Among the peaceful harvest days, 

An Indian Summer comes at last ! 

UP IN THE WILD. 

Up in the wild, where no one comes to look, 
There lives and sings a little lonely brook : 
Iyiveth and singeth in the dreary pines, 
Yet creepeth on to where the daylight shines. 



fioems for £be Ifttng's 2)augbters 271 

Pure from their heaven, in mountain chalice 

caught, 
It drinks the rains, as drinks the soul her 

thought ; 
And down dim hollows where it winds along, 
Pours its life-burden of unlistened song. 

I catch the murmur of its undertone. 
That sigheth ceaselessly, Alone ! Alone ! 
And hear afar the Rivers gloriously 
Shout on their paths toward the shining sea ! 

The voiceful Rivers, chanting to the sun, 
And wearing names of honor, every one : 
Outreaching wide, and joining hand with hand 
To pour great gifts along the asking land. 

Ah, lonely brook ! Creep onward through the 

pines ; 
Press through the gloom to where the daylight 

shines ! 
Sing on among the stones, and secretly 
Feel how the floods are all akin to thee ! 

Drink the sweet rain the gentle heaven sendeth ; 
Hold thine own path, howeverward it tendeth ; 
For somewhere, underneath the eternal sky, 
Thou, too, shall find the Rivers, by and by ! 



272 Sunsbine in Xife 



Clara 3> /IDoore. 

1824. 

THE WEB OF LIFE. 

My life, which was so straight and plain, 
Has now become a tangled skein, 

Yet God still holds the thread ; 
Weave as I may, His hand doth guide 
The shuttle's course, however wide 

The chain in woof be wed. 

One weary night, when months went by, 
I plied my loom with tear and sigh, 

In grief unnamed, untold ; 
But when at last the morning's light 
Broke on my vision, fair and bright 

There gleamed a cloth of gold. 

And now I never lose my trust, 
Weave as I may — and weave I must — 

That God doth hold the thread ; 
He guides my shuttle on its way, 
He makes complete my task each day ; 

What more, then, can be said ? 



lpoeme for £be Ifclng's Daughters 273 

IRicbarfc Ibenrp 5to£>fcart>. 

1825. 

THE STORK AND THE RUBY. 

A certain prince, I have forgot his name, 
Playing one morning at the archers game, 
Within a garden where his palace stood, 
Shot at a stork, and spilled the creature's blood 
For very wantonness and cruelty. 
Thrice had he pierced his target in the eye 
At fifty paces ; twice defloured a rose, 
Striking each time the very leaf he chose ; 
Then he set up his dagger in a hedge, 
And split an arrow on its glittering edge. 
What next to hit he knew not. Looking round 
He saw a stork just lighted on the ground, 
To rest itself after its leagues of flight : 
The dewy walk in which it stood was bright 
So white its plumage, and so clear its eyes, 
Twinkling with innocence and sweet surprise. 
"I '11 shoot the silly bird," the prince ex- 
claimed : 
And bending his strong bow he straightway 

aimed 
His keenest arrow at its panting heart ; 
The lucky arrow missed a vital part, 
(Pr was it some kind wind that pushed it by ?) 
And only struck and broke the creature's thigh. 
The poor thing tumbled in a lily bed, 
And its blood ran and made the lilies red. 



274 Sunsbine in Xife 

It marked the changing color of the flowers, 
The winding garden walks, the bloomy bowers, 
And, last, the cruel prince, who laughed with 

glee- 
Fixing the picture in its memory : 
This done it struggled up, and flew away, 
leaving the prince amazed, and in dismay. 

Beyond the city walls, a league or more, 
A little maid was spinning at her door, 
Singing old songs to cheer the long day's work. 
Her name was Heraclis. The fainting stork 
Dropped at her feet, and with its ebon bill 
Showed her its thigh, broken and bleeding still. 
She fetched it water from a neighbor spring, 
And while it drank and washed each dabbled 

wing 
She set the fractured bones with pious care, 
And bound them with the fillet of her hair. 
Based of its pain, again it flew away, 
Leaving the maiden happier all the day. 

That night the prince as usual went to bed, 
His royal wine a little in his head. 
Beside him stood a casket full of gems, 
The spoil of conquered monarchs' diadems : 
Great pearls, milk-white, and shining like the 

moon, 
Emeralds, grass-green, sapphires, like skies of 

June, 



poems for Gbe IRfng's Daughters 275 

Brilliants that threw their light upon the wall, 

And one great ruby that outshone them all, 

Large as a pigeon's egg, and red as wine. 

At last he slumbered in the pale moonshine. 

Meantime the watchful stork was in his bowers ; 

Again it saw its blood upon the flowers, 

And saw the walks, the fountain's shaft in air, 

But not the cruel prince, no prince was there : 

So up and down the spacious courts it flew, 

And ever nearer to the palace drew. 

Passing the lighted windows row by row, 

It saw the prince, and saw the ruby's glow. 

Hopping into his chamber, grave and still, 

It seized the precious ruby with its bill, 

And spreading then its rapid wings in flight, 

Flew out and vanished in the yawning night. 

Night slowly passed, and morning broke again. 

There came a light tap on the window-pane 

Of Heraclis : it woke her, she arose, 

And slipping on in haste her peasant clothes, 

Opened the door to see who knocked, and lo, 

In walked the stork again, as white as snow, 

Triumphant with the ruby, whose red ray 

Flamed in her face, anticipating day ! 

Again the creature pointed to its thigh, 

And something human brightened in its eye, 

A look that said " I thank you ! " plain as words. 

The virgin's look was brighter than the bird's, 

So glad was she to see it was not dead : 

She stretched her hand to sleek its bowing head, 



276 Sunsbine in %ifc 

But ere she could it made a sudden stand, 
And thrust the priceless ruby in her hand, 
And sailing swiftly through the cottage door 
Mounted the morning sky, and came no more ! 

THE DEAD. 

I think about the dead by day, 

I dream of them at night ; 
They seem to stand beside my chair, 
Clad in the clothes they used to wear, 

And by my bed in white. 

The commonplaces of their lives, 

The lightest words they said, 
Revive in me, and give me pain, 
And make me wish them back again, 

Or wish that I were dead. 

I would be kinder to them now, 

Were they alive once more ; 
Would kiss their cheeks, and kiss their hair, 
And love them, like the angels there, 

Upon the silent shore. # 



tfranfe JSottome. 

THE OLD BOOK AND THE NEW. 

He closed the book and made it fast, 
The Master, whose I am ; 

And on the record of the past 
He put my single name. 



lpoems fov tlbe Iftfng's Daughters 277 

I prayed Him just to let me look 

Its careless pages o'er ; 
But, ' ' No ! " He said, ' ' what 's in the book 

Is written evermore." 

And then, along the line of years, 

I saw the volumes stand ; 
I knew them all — through blinding tears 

I recognized my hand. 
Oh, could I but erase some deeds ! 

Some pages blank could fill ! 
' Nay, nay," He said, " for all is sealed 

To judgment, good or ill. 

" The past is past ; no vain regrets 

Can change a single line ; 
His hand, who time and judgment sets, 

Puts this new book in thine. 
Take it, thou hast no choice, 't is thine, 

Nor canst thou aught conceal, 
For conscience keeps a sleepless shrine, 

And all things will reveal. 

" 'T is not the deed which thou hast wrought 

Should make thee hope or fear ; 
But that thyself — thy will — thy thought 

Makes certain record there. 
Each day but marks thee what thou art, — 

God's balances are just ; 
Not weight of deeds, but weight of heart, 

And worth of simple trust. 



278 Sunsblne In Xife 

' ' Go wash thee from thy sense of shame 

And deeper sense of sin ; 
Seek this, and consciousness of blame 

Will pass, with peace within. 
So shall each day its work record, 

And each revolving year 
Before thy ever- living I^ord 

Its faithful witness bear." 



THE BANNER OF THE KING. 

Throw your banner, ' ' In His Name, ' ' 
Out upon the New Year's wing ; 

Far and wide your Iyord proclaim, 
Sons and Daughters of The King. 

Bear your heads erect, and meet 
The rising day with open hand ; 

Kind of speech and swift of feet, 
Scatter sunshine o'er the land. 

Yours the broken heart to heal, 
Yours the load of grief to share ; 

Who their neighbor's woe can feel, 
Find their mission anywhere. 

Yours the wayward heart to win, 
Yours the outcast to reclaim ; 

Yours to lift the child of sin 
From the burden of her shame. 



lpoems for XLhc Iftfng's Daughters 279 

Pure of heart and clean of thought, — 
Life without and life within ; — 

Like a garment richly wrought, 
Fit for angels or for men. 

Royalty in royal love, 

Royalty in loving deed ; 
Show your lineage from above, 

In the broadness of your creed. 

Set against abounding sin, 

More and more abounding grace ; 

Redeeming love that takes you in, 
Would redeem the human race. 

Catch the music of your song 
From the theme the angels sing : 

Fainter notes than they prolong 
Are unworthy of your King. 

Free as air the hope you raise ; 

Strong as light the truth you hold ; 
Christ's the everlasting praise ; 

One the flock, within one fold. 

Bow the knee, exalt the Son ! 

Wrong and hate before Him fall ; 
Let His will on earth be done, 

God and Father over all. 

Sons and Daughters of The King, 

In the spirit of His word, 
Joyful on the New Year's wing 

Throw the banner of your Lord. 



280 Sunsbtne in Xife 

THEE FIRST AND LAST. 

Thee first and last, my God, my King, 
The opening year Thy praise shall sing ; 
And while I tune my harp again, 
My soul repeats her glad Amen ! 

I know not what may lie before, 

I only see an open door ; 

I only feel a guiding hand 

As duty answers love's command. 

Better to me than open skies 
That hope is veiled in dim surprise ; 
Each day unfolding from above 
Some new, sweet mystery of Thy love. 

What if my vision could command 
The prospects of the opening land'; 
Would then my soul so closely cling 
To Thee, my Father and my King ? 

Better my hand be still in Thine, 
Be lost my will in will divine ; 
Where can a child so safe abide 
As pressing to a Father's side ? 

Thee first and last, my God, my King, 
The opening year Thy praise shall sing ; 
And each succeeding day shall be 
A fresh memorial, L/ord, to Thee. 



lpoems for XLbc IRing's ©augbters 281 
B. Befcell Benjamin. 

SOMETHING NEW FOR EASTER! 

[Mrs. Bottome once spoke of tier girlish wish to have 
" Something new for Easter, something new to wear." 
It is the yearly cry of fashion's votaries, who thus un- 
consciously voice the typical need of the Church, in 
preparation for the Easter wedding feast.] 

' ' Something new for Baster ! Something new to 

wear ! 
Yes ! a robe of beauty, soft as Summer air ! 
Made of woven sunlight, wrought with thread of 

gold, 
Fleck' d with silver whiteness, gleaming down 

each fold. 
A robe of perfect purity, never sin to hide — 
The robe the Holy Spirit brings, to clothe the 

Saviour's bride. 

' ' Something new for Baster ! Something new to 
wear ! 

Yes ! a crown of lilies on her brow so fair ! 

A crown of snow-white lilies, 't is wrought with 
wondrous art, 

An off 'ring to their Maker, from out her loving 
heart. 

A lily crown each pillar had, before the temple 
door, 

And so the bride, a lily crown, is wearing ever- 
more. 



282 Sunsbine in Xife 

' ' Something new for Easter ! Something new to 
wear ! 

Yes ! the softest sandals, made of fabric rare ! 

This fabric fell from Heaven, when once the 
angels sang, 

' Peace ! Peace on earth and glory ' through mid- 
night watches rang. 

The footsteps of the bride, fall noiseless on the 
air — 

Her feet are shod with peace, this is the fabric 
rare. ' ' 



Iboratio IRelson powers* 

i 826- i 890 

ABIDE WITH US : FOR IT IS TOWARD EVENING. 

The tender light is fading where 
We pause and linger still, 
And through the dim and saddened air 
We feel the evening chill. 

Long hast Thou journeyed with us, L,ord, 
Ere we Thy face did know ; 
Oh, still Thy fellowship afford, 
While dark the shadows grow. 

For passed is many a beauteous field 
Beside our morning road ; 
And many a fount to us is sealed, 
That once so freshly flowed. 



Ipocms for ftbe living's Baugbters 283 

The splendor of the noontide lies 
On other paths than ours ; 
The dews that lave yon fragrant skies 
Will not revive our flowers. 

It is not now as in the glow 

Of life's impassioned heat, 

When to the heart there seemed to flow 

All that of earth was sweet. 

Something has faded — something died, 
Without us and within ; 
We more than ever need a guide, 
Blinded and weak with sin. 

The weight is heavy that we bear, 
Our strength more feeble grows ; 
Weary with toil, and pain, and care, 
We long for sweet repose. 

Stay with us, gracious Saviour, stay 
While friends and hopes depart ; 
Fainting, on Thee we wish to lay 
The burden of our heart. 

Abide with us, dear L,ord, remain 
Our I^ife, our Truth, our Way, 
So shall our loss be turned to gain — 
Night dawn to endless day. 



284 Sunsbfne in %itc 

THE NEW YEAR. 

A Flower unblown ; a Book unread ; 
A Tree with fruit unharvested ; 
A Path untrod ; a House whose rooms 
Lack yet the heart's divine perfumes ; 
A Landscape whose wide border lies 
In silent shade 'neath silent skies ; 
A wondrous Fountain yet unsealed ; 
A Casket with its gifts concealed ; 
This is the year that for you waits, 
Beyond to-morrow's mystic gates. 

Oh, may this Flower unfold to you 
Visions of beauty sweet and new ; 
This Book on golden pages trace 
Your sacred joys and deeds of grace ; 
May all the fruit of this strange Tree 
Luscious and rosy-tinted be ; 
This Path through fields of knowledge go ; 
This House with love's content o'erflow ; 
This Landscape glitter with the dew 
Of blessed hopes and friendships true ; 
This Fountain's living crystal cheer, 
As fail the springs that once were dear ; 
This Casket with such gems be stored 
As shine in lives that love the Lord. 



U>oems for ftbe Iking's ©augbters 285 

%uc£ Xarcom, 

1826. 

HAND-IN-HAND WITH ANGELS. 

Hand-in-hand with angels 
Through the world we go ; 
Brighter eyes are on us 
Than we blind ones know ; 
Tenderer voices cheer us 
Than we deaf will own ; 
Never, walking heavenward, 
Can we walk alone. 

Hand-in-hand with angels, 
In the busy street, 
By the winter hearth-fires, — 
Everywhere, — we meet, 
Though unfledged and songless, 
Birds of paradise ; 
Heaven looks at us daily 
Out of human eyes. 

Hand-in-hand with angels, 
Oft in menial guise ; 
By the same straight pathway 
Prince and beggar rise. 
If we drop the fingers, 
Toil-embrowned and worn, 
Then one link with heaven 
From our life is torn. 



286 Suns bine in Xffe 

Hand-in-hand with angels : 
Some are fallen, — alas ! 
Soiled wings trail pollution 
Over all they pass. 
Lift them into sunshine ! 
Bid them seek the sky ! 
Weaker is your soaring, 
When they cease to fly. 

Hand-in-hand with angels ; 
Some are out of sight, 
leading us, unknowing, 
Into paths of light. 
Some dear hands are loosened 
From our earthly clasp, 
Soul in soul to hold us 
With a firmer grasp. 

Hand-in-hand with angels, — 
'T is a twisted chain, 
Winding heavenward, earthward, 
Linking joy and pain. 
There 's a mournful jarring, 
There 's a clank of doubt, 
If a heart grows heavy, 
Or a hand 's left out. 

Hand-in-hand with angels 
Walking every day ;— 
How the chain may lengthen, 
None of us can say. 



E>oems for Gbe IRlng's H>augbters 287 

But we know it reaches 
From earth's lowliest one 
To the shining seraph, 
Throned beyond the sun. 

Hand-in-hand with angels ! 
Blessed so to be ! 
Helped are all the helpers ; 
Giving light, they see. 
He who aids another 
Strengthens more than one ; 
Sinking earth he grapples 
To the great white throne. 



A THANKSGIVING. 

For the wealth of pathless forests, 

Whereon no axe may fall ; 

For the winds that haunt the branches, 

The young bird's timid call ; 

For the red leaves dropped like rubies 

Upon the dark green sod ; 

For the waving of the forests, 

I thank Thee, O my God ! 

For the sound of waters gushing 
In bubbling beads of light ; 
For the fleets of snow-white lilies 
Firm anchored out of sight ; 



288 Sunsbine in %itc 

For the reeds among the eddies, 
The crystal on the clod ; 
For the flowing of the rivers, 
I thank Thee, O my God ! 

For the rosebud's break of beauty 
Along the toiler's way ; 
For the violet's eye that opens 
To bless the new-born day ; 
For the bare twigs that in summer 
Bloom like the prophet's rod ; 
For the blossoming of flowers, 
I thank Thee, O my God ! 

For the lifting up of mountains, 

In brightness and in dread ; 

For the peaks where snow and sunshine 

Alone have dared to tread ; 

For the dark of silent gorges, 

Whence mighty cedars nod ; 

For the majesty of mountains, 

I thank Thee, O my God ! 

For the splendor of the sunsets, 

Vast mirrored on the sea ; 

For the gold-fringed clouds, that curtain 

Heaven's inner majesty ; 

For the molten bars of twilight, 

Where thought leans, glad, yet awed ; 



poems for £be IRlng's Daughters 289 

For the glory of trie sunsets, 
I thank Thee, O my God ! 

For the earth and all its beauty, 
The sky and all its light ; 
For the dim and soothing shadows, 
That rest the dazzled sight ; 
For unfading fields and prairies, 
Where sense in vain has trod ; 
For the world's exhaustless beauty, 
I thank Thee, O my God ! 

For an eye of inward seeing, 
A soul to know and love ; 
For these common aspirations 
That our high heirship prove ; 
For the hearts that bless each other 
Beneath Thy smile, Thy rod ; 
For the amaranth saved from Eden, 
I thank Thee, O my God ! 

For the hidden scroll o'erwritten 
With one dear Name adored ; 
For the heavenly in the human, 
The Spirit in the Word ; 
For the tokens of Thy presence, 
Within, above, abroad ; 
For Thine own great gift of being, 
I thank Thee, O my God ! 
19 



2go Sunsbine in %ife 

IRose Uerrp Cooke. 

1827. 

"IT IS MORE BLESSED." 

Give ! as the morning that flows out of heaven ; 
Give ! as the waves when their channel is riven ; 
Give ! as the free air and sunshine are given ; 

Lavishly, utterly, carelessly give. 
Not the waste drops of thy cup overflowing, 
Not the faint sparks of thy hearth ever glowing, 
Not a pale bud from the June rose 's blowing ; 

Give as He gave thee, who gave thee to live. 

Pour out th}' love like the rush of a river 
Wasting its waters, forever and ever, 
Through the burnt sands that reward not the 
giver ; 

Silent or songful, thou nearest the sea. 
Scatter thy life as the Summer shower's pouring ! 
What if no bird through the pearl-rain is soaring ? 
What if no blossom looks upward adoring ? 

IvOok to the life that was lavished for thee ! 

Give, though thy heart may be wasted and weary, 
L^aid on an altar all ashen and dreary ; 
Though from its pulses a faint miserere 

Beats to thy soul the sad presage of fate, 
Bind it with cords of unshrinking devotion ; 
Smile at the song of its restless emotion ; 
'T is the stern hymn of eternity's ocean ; 

Hear ! and in silence thy future await. 



Ipoems for Zbe fting's 2>augbtet6 291 

So the wild wind strews its perfumed caresses. 
Evil and thankless the desert it blesses, 
Bitter the wave that its soft pinion presses, 

Never it ceaseth to whisper and sing. 
What if the hard heart give thorns for thy roses ? 
What if on rocks thy tired bosom reposes ? 
Sweetest is music with minor-keyed closes, 

Fairest the vines that on ruin will cling. 

Almost the day of thy giving is over ; 

Ere from the grass dies the bee-haunted clover, 

Thou wilt have vanished from friend and from 
lover. 
What shall thy longing avail in the grave ? 

Give as the heart gives whose fetters are break- 
ing, 

I^ife, love, and hope, all thy dreams and thy 
waking. 

Soon, heaven's river thy soul-fever slaking, 

Thou shalt know God and the gift that He gave. 



5obn TTownsenfc Urowbrfoge, 

1827. 

AT SEA. 

The night was made for cooling shade, 

For silence, and for sleep ; 
And when I was a child, I laid 
My hands upon my breast, and prayed, 

And sank to slumbers deep. 



292 Sunsbine in Xtfe 

Childlike, as then, I lie to-night, 
And watch my lonely cabin-light. 

Each movement of the swaying lamp 

Shows how the vessel reels, 
And o'er her deck the billows tramp, 
And all her timbers strain and cramp 

With every shock she feels ; 
It starts and shudders, while it burns, 
And in its hinged socket turns. 

Now swinging slow, and slanting low, 

It almost level lies : 
And yet I know, while to and fro 
I watch the seeming pendule go 

With restless fall and rise, 
The steady shaft is still upright, 
Poising its little globe of light. 

hand of God ! O lamp of peace ! 
O promise of my soul ! 

Though weak and tossed, and ill at ease 
Amid the roar of smiting seas — 
The ship's convulsive roll, — 

1 own, with love and tender awe, 
Yon perfect type of faith and law. 

A heavenly trust my spirit calms, — 

My soul is filled with light ; 
The ocean sings his solemn psalms ; 



poems for XLhe Ikfng's IDaugbters 293 

The wild winds chant ; I cross my palms ; 

Happy, as if to-night, 
Under the cottage roof again, 
I hear the soothing summer rain. 



jf rancis fllMles finch. 

1827. 

THE BLUE AND THE GRAY. 

By the flow of the inland river, 

Whence the fleets of iron have fled, 
Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver, 

Asleep are the ranks of the dead ; — 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; — 
Under the one, the Blue ; 

Under the other, the Gray. 

From the silence of sorrowful hours 

The desolate mourners go, 
L,ovingly laden with flowers 

Alike for the friend and the foe ; — ■ 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; — 
Under the roses, the Blue ; 

Under the lilies, the Gray. 



294 Sunebfne in Xife 

So with an equal splendor 

The morning sun-rays fall, 
With a touch, impartially tender, 

On the blossoms blooming for all ; — 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; — 
'Broidered with gold, the Blue ; 

Mellowed with gold, the Gray. 

So, when the Summer calleth, 

On forest and field of grain 
With an equal murmur falleth 

The cooling drip of the rain ; — 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; — 
Wet with the rain, the Blue ;] 

Wet with the rain, the Gray. 

Sadly, but not with upbraiding, 

The generous deed was done ; 
In the storm of the years that are fading, 

No braver battle was won ; — 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; — 
Under the blossoms, the Blue ; 

Under the garlands, the Gray. 

No more shall the war-cry sever, 

Or the winding rivers be red ; 
They banish our anger forever 

When they laurel the graves of our dead ! 



poems for TLbe fctng'6 IDaugbters 295 

Under the sod and the dew, 
Waiting the judgment day ; — 

Love and tears for the Blue, 
Tears and love for the Gray. 



Hlbert tkaigbton. 

1829-1887. 

UNDER THE LEAVES. 

Oft have I walked these woodland paths, 
Without the blest foreknowing 

That underneath the withered leaves 
The fairest buds were growing. 

To-day the south wind sweeps away 
The types of Autumn's splendor, 

And shows the sweet arbutus flowers, 
Spring's children, pure and tender. 

O prophet flowers ! — with lips of bloom, 

Out- vying in thy beauty 
The pearly tints of ocean shells, — 

Ye teach me faith and duty ! 

"Walk life's dark ways," ye seem to say, 
" With love's divine foreknowing, 

That where man sees but withered leaves, 
God sees sweet flowers growing." 



296 Sunsbfne in %itc 

Sarab Dammonfc palfrey, 

1830. 

THE LIGHT-HOUSE. 

O'er waves that murmur ever nigh 
My window, opening toward the deep, 

The light-house, with its wakeful eye, 
Iyooks into mine, that shuts to sleep. 

I lose myself in idle dreams, 

And wake in smiles or sighs or fright, 
According to my vision's themes, 

And see it shining in the night. 

Forever there, and still the same ; 

While many more beside me mark 
On various course, with various aim, 

That light that shineth in the dark. 

It draws my heart towards those who roam 
Unknown, nor to be known by me ; 

I see it, and am glad at home, 
They see it, and are safe at sea. 



jpoems for Zbe Iking's Daughters 297 
Ibelen 1bunt 3acfeson. 

(H. H.) 
183I-1885. 

THE WAY TO SING. 

The birds must know. Who wisely sings 

Will sing as they. 
The common air has generous wings : 

Songs make their way. 
No messenger to run before, 

Devising plan ; 
No mention of the place, or hour, 

To any man ; 
No waiting till some sound betrays 

A listening ear ; 
No different voice, no new delays, 

If steps draw near. 

' ' What bird is that ? The song is good. ' ' 

And eager eyes 
Go peering through the dusky wood 

In glad surprise. 

Then, late at night, when by his fire, 

The traveller sits, 
Watching the flame grow brighter, higher, 

The sweet song flits 
By snatches, through his weary brain, 

To help him rest. 
When next he goes that road again, 

An empty nest 



298 Sunsbfnc in Xife 

On leafless bough will make him sigh : 
' ' Ah me ! last spring, 

Just here I heard, in passing by, 
That rare bird sing. ' ' 

But while he sighs, remembering 

How sweet the song, 
The little bird, on tireless wing, 

Is borne along 
In other air ; and other men, 

With weary feet, 
On other roads, the simple strain 

Are finding sweet. 

The birds must know. Who wisely sings 

Will sing as they. 
The common air has generous wings : 

Songs make their way. 



A LAST PRAYER. 

Father, I scarcely dare to pray, 
So clear I see, now it is done, 
That I have wasted half my day, 
And left my work but just begun ; 

So clear I see that things I thought 
Were right or harmless were a sin ; 
So clear I see that I have sought, 
Unconscious, selfish aims to win ; 



poems for Zhe IRing's 2>augbters 299 

So clear I see that I have hurt 
The souls I might have helped to save, 
That I have slothful been, inert, 
Deaf to the calls Thy leaders gave. 

In outskirts of Thy kingdoms vast, 
Father, the humblest spot give me ; 
Set me the lowliest task Thou hast, 
I^et me repentant work for Thee ! 



"Clnfenown. 

THE THRUSH. 

Songster of the russet coat, 
Full and liquid is thy note ; 
Plain thy dress, but great thy skill, 
Captivating at thy will. 

Small musician of the field, 
Near my bower thy tribute yield, 
Little servant of the ear, 
Ply thy task, and never fear. 

I will learn from thee to praise 
God, the Author of my days ; 
I will learn from thee to sing, 
Christ, my Saviour and my King ; 
I^earn to labor with my voice, 
Make the sinking heart rejoice. 



3oo Sunsblne in Xife 

Bfcmunfc) Clarence Stefcman. 

1833. 

THE SINGER. 

O lark ! sweet lark ! 

Where learn you all minstrelsy ? 

What realms are those to which you fly ? 

While robins feed their young from dawn till dark, 

You soar on high, — 

Forever in the sky. 

O child ! dear child ! 

Above the clouds I lift my wing 

To hear the bells of Heaven ring ; 

Some of their music, though my flights be wild, 
To Earth I bring : 
Then let me soar and sing ! 



FROM " THE ORDEAL BY FIRE." 

Thou, who dost feel life's vessel strand 
Full-length upon the shifting sand, 
And hearest breakers close at hand, 

Be strong and wait ! nor let the strife, 
With which the winds and waves are rife, 
Disturb that sacred inner life. 



Ipoems for XLbc frtng's Daugbters 301 

Ibenrs 1R. Cobb. 

1834. 

"FATHER, TAKE MY HAND." 

Tlie way is dark, my Father ! Cloud on cloud 
Is gathering thickly o'er my head, and loud 
The thunders roar above me. See, I stand 
Like one bewildered ! Father, take my hand, 

And through the gloom 

Lead safely home 
Thy child ! 

The day goes fast, my Father ! and the night 
Is drawing darkly down. My faithless sight 
Sees ghostly visions. Fears, a spectral band, 
Encompass me. O Father ! take my hand, 

And from the night 

Lead up to light 
Thy child ! 

The way is long, my Father ! and my soul 
Longs for the rest and quiet of the goal ; 
While yet I journey through this weary land, 
Keep me from wandering. Father, take my hand ; 

Quickly and straight 

Lead to heaven's gate 
Thy child ! 

The path is rough, my Father ! Many a thorn 
Has pierced me : and my weary feet, all torn, 



302 Sunsbine In %itc 

And bleeding, mark the way. Yet thy command 
Bids me press forward. Father, take my hand : 

Then safe and blest, 

Lead up to rest 
Thy child ! 

The throng is great, my Father ! Many a doubt 
And fear and danger compass me about ; 
And foes oppress me sore. I cannot stand 
Or go alone. O Father ! take my hand, 

And through the throng 

Lead safe along 
Thy child ! 

The cross is heavy, Father ! I have borne 
It long, and still do bear it. Let my worn 
And fainting spirit rise to that blest land 
Where crowns are given. Father, take my hand, 

And reaching down, 

Lead to the crown 
Thy child ! 

THE GRACIOUS ANSWER. 

The way is dark, my child ! but leads to light. 
I would not always have thee walk by sight. 
My dealings now thou canst not understand. 
I meant it so ; but I will take thy hand, 

And through the gloom 

Lead safely home 
My child ! 



poems for Zhe IRtng's 2)augbters 303 

The day goes fast, my child ! But is the night 
Darker to me than day ? In me is light ! 
Keep close to me, and every spectral band 
Of fears shall vanish. I will take thy hand, 

And through the night 

Lead up to light 
My child ! 

The way is long, my child ! But it shall be 

Not one step longer than is best for thee ; 

And thou shalt know, at last, when thou shalt 

stand 
Safe at the goal, how I did take thy hand, 
And quick and straight 
Lead to heaven's gate 
My child ! 

The path is rough, my child ! But oh ! how 

sweet 

Will be the rest, for weary pilgrims meet, 

When thou shalt reach the borders of that land 

To which I lead thee, as I take thy hand, 

And safe and blest 

With me shall rest 

My child ! 

The throng is great, my child ! But at thy side 
Thy Father walks ; then be not terrified, 
For I am with thee ; will thy foes command 
To let thee freely pass ; will take thy hand, 



304 Sunsbfne in %iic 

And through the throng 
L,ead safe along 
My child ! 

The cross is heavy, child ! Yet there was One 

Who bore a heavier for thee : my Son, 

My Well-beloved. For Him bear thine ; and 

stand 
With Him at last; and, from thy Father's hand, 
The cross laid down, 
Receive a crown, 
My child ! 



Ibarrfet ZlDcBwen Iktmball. 

i8 34 . 

ALL 'S WELL. 

The day is ended. Ere I sink to sleep, 
My weary spirit seeks repose in Thine ; 

Father ! forgive my trespasses, and keep 
This little life of mine. 

With loving-kindness curtain thou my bed, 
And cool in rest my burning pilgrim feet ; 

Thy pardon be the pillow for my head, — 
So shall my sleep be sweet. 

At peace with all the world, dear Lord, and Thee, 
No fears my soul's unwavering faith can shake ; 

All 's well, whichever side the grave for me 
The morning light may break ! 



poems for £be Ifting's Baugbters 305 
jflDargaret 3. preston. . 

ABOUT 1835. 

READY. 

I would be ready, Lord, 

My house in order set, 
None of the work Thou gavest me 

To do, unfinished yet. 

I would be watching, Lord, 

With lamp, well trimmed and clear, 
Quick to throw open wide the door, 

What time Thou drawest near. 

I would be waiting, Lord, 

Because I cannot know 
If in the night or morning watch 

I may be called to go. 

I would be working, Lord, 

Bach day, each hour, for Thee ; 

Assured that thus I wait Thee well, 
Whene'er Thy coming be. 

I would be living, Lord, 

As ever in Thine eye ; 
For whoso lives the nearest Thee 

The fittest is to die. 



306 Sunsbtne in Xife 

IPbtllips JSroofts. 

1835- 

O LITTLE TOWN OF BETHLEHEM. 

O little town of Bethlehem, 

How still we see thee lie ! 
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep 

The silent hours go by. 
Yet in thy dark streets shineth 

The everlasting Light ; 
The hopes and fears of all the years 

Are met in thee to-night. 

For Christ is born of Mary, 

And, gathered all above, 
While mortals sleep, the angels keep 

Their watch of wondering love. 
O morning stars, together 

Proclaim the holy birth ! 
And praises sing to God the King, 

And peace to men on earth. 

How silently, how silently, 

The wondrous gift is given ! 
So God imparts to human hearts 

The blessings of His heaven. 
No ear may hear His coming ; 

But in this world of sin, 
Where meek souls will receive Him still, 

The dear Christ enters in. 



lpoems for Gbe Ifting's 2>augbters 307 

O holy Child of Bethlehem, 

Descend to us, we pray ! 
Cast out our sin, and enter in ; 

Be born in us to-day. 
We hear the Christmas angels 

The great glad tidings tell : 
Oh, come to us, abide with us, 

Our Iyord Emmanuel ! 



TUnfenown. 

UNSEEN. 

At the spring of an arch in the great north tower, 
High up on the wall, is an angel's head ; 

And beneath it is carved a lily flower, 
With delicate wings at the side outspread. 

They say that the sculptor wrought from the 
face 
Of his youth's lost love, of his promised bride, 
And when he had added the last sad grace 

To the features, he dropped his chisel and 
died. 

And the worshippers throng to the shrine below, 
And the sight-seers come with their curious 
eyes, 

But deep in the shadow, where none may kno w 
Its beauty, the gem of his carving lies. 



308 5utt0bfne in Xffe 

Yet at early morn on a midsummer's day, 

When the sun is far to the north, for the space 

Of a few short minutes, there falls a ray 

Through an amber pane, on the angel's face. 

It was wrought for the eye of God, and it seems 
That He blesses the work of the dead man's 
hand 
With a ray of the golden light that streams 

On the lost that are found in the deathless 
land. 



Wasbington (Maseru 

1836. 

THE PASTOR'S REVERIE. 

The pastor sits in his easy-chair, 

With the Bible upon his knee, 
From gold to purple the clouds in the west 

Are changing momently ; 
The shadows lie in the valleys below, 

And hide in the curtain's fold ; 
And the page grows dim whereon he reads, 

' ' I remember the days of old. ' ' 

' ' Not clear nor dark, ' ' as the Scripture saith, 

The pastor's memories are ; 
No day that is gone was shadowless, 

No night was without its star ; 



fl>oems for XZbe lkfng'6 Daughters 309 

But mingled bitter and sweet hath been 

The portion of his cup : 
"The hand that in love hath smitten," he saith, 

' ' In love hath bound us up. ' ' 

Fleet flies his thought over many a field 

Of stubble and snow and bloom, 
And now it trips through a festival, 

And now it halts at a tomb ; 
Young faces smile in his reverie, 

Of those that are young no more, 
And voices are heard that only come 

With the winds from a far-off shore. 

He thinks of a day when first, with fear 

And faltering lips, he stood 
To speak in the sacred place the Word 

To the waiting multitude ; 
He walks again to the house of God 

With the voice of joy and praise, 
With many whose feet long time have pressed 

Heaven's safe and blessed ways. 

He enters again the homes of toil, 

And joins in the homely chat ; 
He stands in the shop of the artisan ; 

He sits, where the Master sat, 
At the poor man's fire and the rich man's feast. 

But who to-day are the poor, 
And who are the rich ? Ask Him who keeps 

The treasures that ever endure. 



3io Sunsbine in Xife 

Once more the green and grove resound 

With merry children's din ; 
He hears their shout at the Christmas tide, 

When Santa Claus stalks in. 
Once more he lists while the camp-fire roars 

On the distant mountain-side, 
Or, proving apostleship, plies the brook 

Where the fierce young troutlings hide. 

And now he beholds the wedding train 

To the altar slowly move, 
And the solemn words are said that seal 

The sacrament of love. 
Anon at the font he meets once more 

The tremulous youthful pair, 
With a white-robed cherub crowing response 

To the consecrating prayer. 

By the couch of pain he kneels again ; 

Again, the thin hand lies 
Cold in his palm, while the last far look 

Steals into the steadfast eyes ; 
And now the burden of hearts that break 

Lies heavy upon his own — 
The widow's woe and the orphan's cry 

And the desolate mother's moan. 

So blithe and glad, so heavy and sad, 
Are the days that are no more, 

So mournfully sweet are the sounds that float 
With the winds from a far-off shore. 



lpoeme for Gbe "King's 2>augbters 311 

For the pastor has learned what meaneth the 
word 

That is given him to keep : 
" Rejoice with them that do rejoice, 

And weep with them that weep. ' ' 

It is not in vain that he has trod 

This lonely and toilsome way. 
It is not in vain that he has wrought 

In the vineyard all the day ; 
For the soul that gives is the soul that lives, 

And bearing another's load 
Doth lighten your own, and shorten the way 

And brighten the homeward road. 



IRancs B. TRDU priest Wafeefielfc. 

1836-1870. 

HEAVEN. 

Beyond these chilling winds and gloomy skies, 

Beyond death's cloudy portal, 
There is a land where beauty never dies — 

Where love becomes immortal. 

A land whose life is never dimmed by shade, 

Whose fields are ever vernal ; 
Where nothing beautiful can ever fade, 

But blooms for aye eternal. 



3i2 Sunsbfne in Xife 



We may not know how sweet its balmy air, 

How bright and fair its flowers ; 
We may not hear the songs that echo there 

Through those enchanted bowers. 

The city's shining towers we may not see 

With our dim earthly vision, 
For Death, the silent warder, keeps the key 

That opes the gates elysian. 

But sometimes, when adown the western sky 

A fiery sunset lingers, 
Its golden gates swing inward noiselessly, 

Unlocked by unseen fingers. 

And while they stand a moment half ajar, 

Gleams from the inner glory 
Stream brightly through the azure vault afar, 

And half reveal the story. 

O land unknown ! O land of love divine ! 

Father, all-wise, eternal, 
Oh, guide these wandering, way-worn feet of 
mine 

Into those pastures vernal ! 



poems tor XTbe Iking's IDaugbters 313 

IRewton 5* ©tis. 
1836. 

CHILDHOOD'S PRAYER. 

As now I lay me down to sleep, 
May angels guard around me keep, 
Through all the silent hours of night, 
Their watch and ward till morning light. 
Dim evening shades around me creep, 
As now I lay me down to sleep. 

I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to keep, 
The while I wake or while I sleep ; 
And while I work and while I play, 
Give me Thy grace, that, day by day, 
Thy love may in my heart grow deep — 
I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to keep. 

If I should die before I wake ; 

If I this night the world forsake, 

And leave the friends I hold most dear, 

Leave all that I so value here ; 

And if Thy call my slumbers break — 

If I should die before I wake, 

I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to take ; 
I pray that Thou wouldst for me make 
Close at Thy feet a lowly place, 
Where I may e'er behold Thy face, 



;i4 Sunebinc in Xife 

And this I ask for Thy dear sake — 
I pray Thee, I,ord, my soul to take. 

While bending at my mother's knee, 
This little prayer she taught to me : 
" Now as I lay me down to sleep, 
I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to keep ; 
If I should die before I wake, 
I pray Thee, I^ord, my soul to take." 



ZTbomas JSaile^ Blfcrfcb. 

1836. 

BEFORE THE RAIN. 

We knew it would rain, for all the morn, 

A spirit on slender ropes of mist 
Was lowering its golden buckets down 

Into the vapory amethyst 

Of marshes and swamps and dismal fens, — 
Scooping the dew that lay in the flowers, 

Dipping the jewels out of the sea, 

To sprinkle them over the land in showers. 

We knew it would rain, for the poplars showed 
The white of their leaves, the amber grain 

Shrunk in the wind, — and the lightning now 
Is tangled in tremulous skeins of rain ! 



fl>oems tor ftbe Iking's ©augbters 3^ 

AFTER THE RAIN. 

The rain has ceased, and in my room 
The sunshine pours an airy flood ; 

And on the church's dizzy vane 

The ancient Cross is bathed in blood. 

From out the dripping ivy-leaves, 
Antiquely carven, gray and high, 

A dormer, facing westward, looks 
Upon the village like an eye : 

And now it glimmers in the sun, 
A square of gold, a disk, a speck : 

And in the belfry sits a Dove 
With purple ripples on her neck. 



Wi. Ux Denable. 

1836. 

THE TEACHER'S DREAM. 

The weary teacher sat alone 
While twilight gathered on ; 

And not a sound was heard around, 
The boys and girls were gone. 

The weary teacher sat alone, 
Unnerved and pale was he, 

Bowed 'neath a yoke of care, he spoke 
In sad soliloquy : 



3*6 Sunsbine in %iic 

' ' Another round, another round 

Of labor thrown away, — 
Another chain of toil and pain 

Dragged through a tedious day. 

" Of no avail is constant zeal, 

IvOve's sacrifice is loss, 
The hopes of morn, so golden, turn 

Each evening into dross. 

' ' I squander on a barren field, 
My strength, my life, my all, 

The seeds I sow will never grow, 
They perish where they fall." 

He sighed, and low upon his hands 

His aching brow he prest ; 
And o'er his frame, erelong there came 

A soothing sense of rest. 

And then he lifted up his face, 
But started back aghast, — 

The room by strange and sudden change 
Assumed proportions vast. 

It seemed a Senate hall, and one 
Addressed a listening throng ; 

Each burning word all bosoms stirred, 
Applause rose loud and long. 



poems for Gbe IRing'0 Daughters 317 

The 'wildered teacher thought he knew 

The speaker's voice and look, 
" And for his name," said he, "the same 

Is in my record-book." 

The stately Senate hall dissolved, 

A church rose in its place, 
Wherein there stood a man of God, 

Dispensing words of grace. 

And though he spoke in solemn tone, 

And though his hair was gray, 
The teacher's thought was strangely wrought, 

' ' I whipped that boy to-day. ' ' 

The church, a phantasm, vanished soon ; 

What saw the teacher then ? 
In classic gloom of alcoved room, 

An author plied his pen. 

" My idlest lad ! " the teacher said, 

Filled with a new surprise — 
" Shall I behold his name enrolled 

Among the great and wise ? " 

The vision of a cottage home 

The teacher now descried ; 
A mother's face illumed the place 

Her influence sanctified. 



318 Sunsbtne in Xife 

' ' A miracle ! a miracle ! 

This matron, well I know, 
Was but a wild and careless child 

Not half an hour ago. 

' ' And when she to her children speaks 

Of duty's golden rule, 
Her lips repeat, in accents sweet, 

My words to her at school. ' ' 

The scene was changed again, and lo, 
The school-house rude and old, 

Upon the wall did darkness fall, 
The evening air was cold. 

" A dream ! " the sleeper, waking, said, 

Then paced along the floor, 
And, whistling slow and soft and low, 

He locked the school-house door. 

And, walking home, his heart was full 
Of peace and trust and love and praise ; 

And singing slow and soft and low, 
He murmured, " After many days." 



poems for Zhe Iftfns's ©augbtere 319 

Gelia Ubajter* 

1836. 

THE SANDPIPER. 

Across the narrow beach we flit, 

One little sandpiper and I ; 
And fast I gather, bit by bit, 

The scattered driftwood, bleached and dry. 
The wild waves reach their hands for it, 

The wild wind raves, the tide runs high, 
As up and down the beach we flit, — ■ 

One little sandpiper and I. 

Above our heads the sullen clouds 

Scud black and swift across the sky ; 
Like silent ghosts, in misty shrouds 

Stand out the white light-houses high. 
Almost as far as eye can reach, 

I see the close-reefed vessels fly, 
As fast we flit along the beach, — 

One little sandpiper and I. 

I watch him as he skims along 

Uttering his sweet and mournful cry ; 
He starts not at my fitful song, 

Or flash of fluttering drapery ; 
He has no thought of any wrong ; 

He scans me with a fearless eye. 
Stanch friends are we, well tried and strong, 

This little sandpiper and I. 



320 Sunsbfne in Xife 

Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night 

When the loosed storm breaks furiously ? 
My driftwood fire will burn so bright ! 

To what warm shelter canst thou fly ? 
I do not fear for thee, though wroth 

The tempest rushes through the sky ; 
For are we not God's children both, 

Thou, little sandpiper, and I ? 



A SONG OF EASTER. 

Sing, children, sing ! 
And the lily censers swing ; 
Sing that life and joy are waking and that Death 

no more is king. 
Sing the happy, happy tumult of the slowly 
brightening Spring ; 

Sing, little children, sing ! 

Sing, children, sing ! 
Winter wild has taken wing. 
Fill the air with the sweet tidings till the frosty 

echoes ring ! 
Along the eaves the icicles no longer glittering 

cling ; 
And the crocus in the garden lifts its bright face 

to the sun, 
And in the meadows softly the brooks begin to 

run: 



Ipoems for Zbc Iftfng's ©augbters 321 

And the golden catkins swing 
In the warm airs of the Spring ; 

Sing, little children, sing ! 

Sing, children, sing ! 

The lilies white you bring 

In the joyous Baster morning for hope are blos- 
soming ; 

And as the earth her shroud of snow from off her 
breast doth fling, 

So may we cast our fetters off in God's eternal 
spring. 

So may we find release at last from sorrow and 
from pain, 

So may we find our childhood's calm, delicious 
dawn again. 

Sweet are your eyes, O little ones, that look with 

smiling grace, 
Without a shade of doubt or fear into the future's 

face ! 
Sing, sing in happy chorus, with joyful voices 

tell 
That death is life, and God is good, and all things 

shall be well ; 
That bitter days shall cease 
In warmth and light and peace, — 
That Winter yields to Spring, — 

Sing, little children, sing ! 



322 Sunebine in %iic 

William H>ean Ibowells, 

i8 37 . 

THANKSGIVING. 

Lord, for the erring thought 
Not into evil wrought : 
Lord, for the wicked will 
Betrayed and baffled still : 
For the heart from itself kept, 
Our thanksgiving accept. 

For ignorant hopes that were 
Broken to our blind prayer : 
For pain, death, sorrow sent 
Unto our chastisement : 
For all loss of seeming good, 
Quicken our gratitude. 



fll>ar# /iDapes Bo&ae. 

MY WINDOW-IVY. 

Over my window the ivy climbs, 

Its roots are in homely jars ; 
But all the day it looks at the sun, 

And at night looks out at the stars. 

The dust of the room may dim its green, 

But I call to the breezy air : 
" Come in, come in, good friend of mine ! 

And make my window fair." 



poems for XZhe Iftfng's Daughters 323 

So the ivy thrives from morn to morn, 

Its leaves all turned to the light ; 
And it gladdens my soul with its tender green, 

And teaches me day and night. 

What though my lot is in lowly place, 

And my spirit behind the bars ; 
All the long day I may look at the sun, 

And at night look out at the stars. 

What though the dust of earth would dim, 

There 's a glorious outer air 
That will sweep through my soul if I let it in, 

And make it fresh and fair. 

Dear God ! let me grow from day to day, 

Clinging and sunny and bright ! 
Though planted in shade, Thy window is near, 

And my leaves may turn to the light. 

THERE 'S A WEDDING IN THE ORCHARD. 

There 's a wedding in the orchard, dear, 

I know it by the flowers : 
They 're wreathed on every bough and branch, 

Or falling down in showers. 

The air is in a mist, I think, 

And scarce knows which to be — 
Whether all fragrance, clinging close, 

Or bird-song, wild and free. 



324 Sunsbfne in %itc 

And countless wedding-jewels shine, 
And golden gifts of grace : 

I never saw such wealth of sun 
In any shady place. 

It seemed I heard the fluttering robes 
Of maidens clad in white, 

The clasping of a thousand hands 
In tenderest delight ; 

While whispers ran among the boughs 

Of promises and praise ; 
And playful, loving messages 

Sped through the leaf-lit ways. 

Then were there swayings to and fro ; 

The weeds a-tiptoe rose ; 
And sang the breeze a sudden song 

That sank to sudden close. 

And just beyond the wreathed aisles 
That end against the blue, 

The raiment of the wedding-choir 
And priest came shining through. 

And though I saw no wedding-guest. 

Nor groom, nor gentle bride, 
I know that holy things were asked, 

And holy love replied. 



poems for Zbe Iking's JDaugbters 325 

Soon will the lengthening shadows move 

Unwillingly away, 
I^ike friends who linger with adieux 

Yet are not bid to stay. 

I follow where the blue-bird leads, 
And hear its soft ' ' Good-night, ' ' 

Still thinking of the wedding scene 
And aisles of flowery light. 



/IDargaret Hli3abetb Sangster. 



OUR OWN. 

If I had known, in the morning, 

How wearily all the day 
The words unkind would trouble my mind 

That I said when you went away, 
I had been more careful, darling, 

Nor given you needless pain ; 
But — we vex our own with look and tone 

We might never take back again. 

For though in the quiet evening 
You may give me the kiss of peace, 

Yet it well might be that never for me 
The pain of the heart should cease ! 

How many go forth at morning 



326 Sunsbfne in Xtfe 

Who never come home at night, 
And hearts have been broken for harsh words 

spoken 
That sorrow can ne'er set right. 

We have careful thought for the stranger, 

And smiles for the sometime guest, 
But oft for our own the bitter tone, 

Though we love our own the best. 
Ah, lip with the curve impatient, 

Ah, brow with the shade of scorn, 
'T were cruel fate were the night too late 

To undo the work of morn. 



Bona Bean proctor. 



TAKE HEART. 

All day the stormy wind has blown 
From off the dark and rainy sea ; 
No bird has past the window flown, 
The only song has been the moan 
The wind made in the willow-tree. 

This is the summer's burial- time ; 

She died when dropped the earliest leaves ; 
And, cold upon her rosy prime, 
Fell down the autumn's frosty rime ; 

Yet I am not as one that grieves, — 



poems for Zftc Ifting's 2>augbter0 327 

For well I know o'er sunny seas 

The bluebird waits for April skies ; 
And at the roots of forest trees 
The May-flowers sleep in fragrant ease, 
And violets hide their azure eyes. 

O thou, by winds of grief o'erblown 

Beside some golden summer's bier, — ■ 
Take heart ! Thy birds are only flown, 
Thy blossoms sleeping, tearful sown, 
To greet thee in the immortal year ! 



B^bert pbelps. 

1838. 

SUNBEAMS. 

A baby sat on his mother's knee, 

On the golden morn of a summer's day, 

Clapping his tiny hands in glee, 
As he watched the shifting sunbeams play. 

A sunbeam glanced through the open door, 
With its shimmering web of atoms fine, 

And crept along on the sanded floor 

In a glittering, glimmering, golden line. 

The baby laughed in his wild delight, 

And clutched at the quivering golden band ; 

But the sunbeam fled from his eager sight, 
And naught remained in the dimpled hand. 



323 Sunsbine in Xite 

For a cloud had swept o'er the summer sky, 
And gathered the beam to its bosom gray, 

And wrapped in a mantle of sombre dye 
The glory and pride of the summer's day. 

Thus cheated sore in his eager quest, 
With a puzzled look that was sad to see, 

He laid his head on his mother's breast 
And gazed in the dear face wistfully. 

The cloud swept by, and the beam returned, 
But the weary child was slumbering now, 

And heeded it not, though it glowed and 
burned 
L,ike a crown of flame on his baby brow. 

And I thought, ah, babe, thou art not alone 
In thy bootless quest for a fleeting toy, 

For we all are babes, little wiser grown, 
In our chase for some idle and transient 
joy. 

We are grasping at sunbeams day by day, 
And get but our toil for our weary pains ; 

For ever some cloudlet obscures the ray, 
And naught in the sordid grasp remains. 

But when the lures of our youth depart, 
And our empty strivings are all forgot, 

Then down in some nook of the peaceful heart 
The sunbeam glows when we seek it not. 



poems tor XLbc IKfng's Daugbterc 329 

/lDar£ Clemmer Hmes fm&son. 

1 839- 1 884. 

PEACE. 

Peace, troubled heart ! the way 's not long before 
thee, 
l,ay down thy burden ; say to sorrow, cease ; 
Be yon soft azure hand serenely o'er thee, 

The blue, bright border to God's sphere of 
' peace. 
Peace, troubled heart ! the hasty word may fret 
thee, 
The cruel word may coldly probe and pierce ; 
The Christ who suffered, loves thee, never leaves 
thee, 
He pours His balm upon the fever fierce. 

Peace, troubled heart ! though marred thy best 
behavior, 

To thy deep longing, thine aspiring cry, 
Listens thy Heavenly Kinsman, thy dear Saviour 

Healeth thy life-hurt, wipeth thy tears dry. 

Peace, lonely heart ! Be patient. Thou 'It see, 
waiting, 

How perfect sympathy and love may meet ; 
Be patient, praying ; all earth's discord grating, 

Will melt at last to love divine, complete. 



33Q Sunsbinc in Xlfe 

Peace, troubled heart ! O coward, weakly shrink- 
ing 
Back from the chalice ! Saints' and martyrs' 
meed, 
The chrism of suffering. Earthward, poor souls 
sinking, 
Yearn for the heavenly joy, through human 
need. 

Peace, troubled heart ! see yon strong ships all 
sailing 
Through sun and storm, on to the solemn sea ; 
Through summer calms, through wintry tempest 
quailing, 
Thus sailest thou, out to Infinity. 

Peace, troubled heart ! beyond these bitter 
breezes, 
Mid Isles of Paradise, in airs of balm, 
Where cruel wind or word ne'er wounds or 
freezes, 
Thou 'It gain at last the everlasting calm. 

Peace, troubled heart ; go out beneath the ether, 
Rest in the marvellous sunshine of the sky ; 

Watch the bees sail and sing in sunny leisure ; 
Iyist the waves laughing as they loiter by. 

Peace, troubled heart ! if minor notes of sadness 
Tremble through Nature's voices, every sigh 



poems for ftbe fdng's Daughters 331 

Quickens the anthem of her mightier gladness, 
Foretells fruition perfect by and by. 

Peace, troubled heart ! life's ever-mocking seem- 
ing, 
Life's weary dearth, life's aching sense of loss, 
Are fitful phantoms of its transient dreaming, 
While Faith stands steadfast gazing on the 
Cross. 



THauifam C. Gannett, 

1840. 

LISTENING FOR GOD. 

I hear it often in the dark, 

I hear it in the light, — 
Where is the voice that calls to me 

With such a quiet might ? 
It seems but echo to my thought, 

And yet beyond the stars ; 
It seems a heart-beat in a hush, 

And yet the planet jars. 

Oh, may it be that far within 
My inmost soul there lies 

A spirit-sky, that opens with 
Those voices of surprise ? 

And can it be, by night and day, 
That firmament serene 



332 Sunabine in Xife 

Is just the heaven where God himself, 
The Father, dwells unseen ? 

O God within, so close to me 

That every thought is plain, 
Be judge, be friend, be Father still 

And in Thy heaven reign ! 
Thy heaven is mine — my very soul ! 

Thy words are sweet and strong ; 
They fill my inward silences 

With music and with song. 

They send me challenges to right, 

And loud rebuke my ill ; 
They ring my bells of victory, 

They breathe my " Peace, be still ! " 
They ever seem to say : ' ' My child, 

Why seek me so all day ? 
Now journey inward to thyself, 

And listen by the way." 



jfll>at£ Bolles JSrancb. 

1840. 

THE PETRIFIED FERN. 

In a valley, centuries ago, 
Grew a little fern-leaf, green and slender, ■ 
Veining delicate and fibres tender ; 
Waving when the wind crept down so low ; 



poems for Gbe IRing's 2>augbtcrs 333 

Rushes tall, and moss, and grass grew round it, 
Playful sunbeams darted in and found it, 
Drops of dew stole in by night, and crowned it, 
But no foot of man e'er trod that way ; 
Karth was young and keeping holiday. 

Monster fishes swam the silent main, 
Stately forests waved their giant branches, 
Mountains hurled their snowy avalanches, 
Mammoth creatures stalked across the plain ; 
Nature revelled in grand mysteries ; 
But the little fern was not of these, 
Did not number with the hills and trees, 
Only grew and waved its wild sweet way, 
No one came to note it day by day. 

Karth, one time, put on a frolic mood, 

Heaved the rocks and changed the mighty 

motion 
Of the deep, strong currents of the ocean ; 
Moved the plain and shook the haughty wood, 
Crushed the little fern in soft moist clay, 
Covered it, and hid it safe away. 
Oh, the long, long centuries since that day ! 
Oh, the agony, oh, life's bitter cost, 
Since that useless little fern was lost ! 

Useless ! L,ost ! There came a thoughtful man 
Searching Nature's secrets, far and deep ; 
From a fissure in a rocky steep 
He withdrew a stone, o'er which there ran 



334 Sunsbine in Xife 

Fairy pencillings, a quaint design, 
Veinings, leafage, fibres clear and fine, 
And the fern's life lay in every line ! 
So I think, God hides some souls away, 
Sweetly to surprise us the last day. 



/IDar£ %owc EMcfetnson. 

IF WE HAD BUT A DAY. 

We should fill the hours with the sweetest things, 

If we had but a day ; 
We should drink alone at the purest springs 

In our upward way ; 
We should love with a lifetime's love in an hour, 

If the hours were few ; 
We should rest, not for dreams, but for fresher 
power 

To be and to do. 

We should guide our wayward or wearied wills 

By the clearest light ; 
We should keep our eyes on the heavenly hills, 

If they lay in sight ; 
We should trample the pride and the discontent 

Beneath our feet ; 
We should take whatever a good God sent, 

With a trust complete. 



poerna for Zhc IRfng's Daugbterg 335 

We should waste no moments in weak regret, 

If the day were but one ; 
If what we remember and what we forget 

Went out with the sun ; 
We should be from our clamorous selves set free, 

To work or to pray, 
And to be what the Father would have us be, 

If we had but a day. 



/IDa£ 1Rile£ Smitb, 



IN PRISON. 

God pity the wretched prisoners, 
In their lonely cells to-day ! 

Whatever the sins that tripped them 5 
God pity them ! still I say. 

Only a strip of sunshine, 

Cleft by rusty bars ; 
Only a patch of azure, 

Only a cluster of stars ; 

Only a barren future, 

To starve their hope upon ; 

Only stinging memories 

Of a past that 's better gone ; 



336 Sunsbine in Xffe 

Only scorn from women, 

Only hate from men, 
Only remorse to whisper 

Of a life that might have been. 

Once they were little children, 
And perhaps their unstained feet 

Were led by a gentle mother 
Toward the golden street ; 

Therefore, if in life's forest 

They since have lost their way, 

For the sake of her who loved them, 
God pity them ! still I say. 

O mothers gone to heaven ! 

With earnest heart I ask 
That your eyes may not look earthward 

On the failure of your task. 

For even in those mansions 
The choking tears would rise, 

Though the fairest hand in heaven 
Would wipe them from your eyes ! 

And you, who judge so harshly, 
Are you sure the stumbling-stone 

That tripped the feet of others 

Might not have bruised your own ? 



poems for Gbe Ifttng's Daughters 337 

Are you sure the sad-faced angel 

Who writes our errors down 
Will ascribe to you more honor 

Than him on whom you frown ? 

Or, if a steadier purpose 

Unto your life is given ; 
A stronger will to conquer, 

A smoother path to heaven ; 

If, when temptations meet you, 
You crush them with a smile ; 

If you can chain pale passion 
And keep your lips from guile ; 

Then bless the hand that crowned you, 

Remembering, as you go, 
'T was not your own endeavor 

That shaped your nature so ; 

And sneer not at the weakness 

Which made a brother fall, 
For the hand that lifts the fallen, 

God loves the best of all ! 



And pray for the wretched prisoners 

All over the land to-day, 
That a holy hand in pity 

May wipe their guilt away. 



338 Sunebine in %ifc 

HIS NAME SHALL BE IN THEIR FOREHEADS. 

When I shall go where my Redeemer is, 

In the far city on the other side, 
And at the threshold of His palaces 

Shall loose my sandals, ever to abide ; 
I know my Heavenly King will smiling wait 
To give me welcome as I touch the gate. 

Oh, joy ! oh, bliss ! for I shall see His face, 
And wear His blessed name upon my brow ! 

The name that stands for pardon, love, and grace, 
That name before which every knee shall bow. 

No music half so sweet can ever be 

As that dear name which He shall write for me ! 

Crowned with this royal signet, I shall walk 
With lifted forehead through the eternal street ; 

And with a holier mien, and gentler talk, 
Will tell my story to the friends I meet — 

Of how the King did stoop His name to write 

Upon my brow, in characters of light ! 

Then, till I go to meet my Father's smile, 

I '11 keep my forehead smooth from passion's 
scars, 

From angry frowns that trample and defile, 
And every sin that desecrates or mars ; 

That I may lift a face unflushed with shame, 

Whereon my Lord may write His holy name. 



poems tor Zbe IKing's 2>augbters 339 
IRebecca 5. palfrey latter. 

THE KING'S DAUGHTER. 

Her Father sent her in His land to dwell, 
Giving to her a work that must be done ; 

And, since the King loves all His people well, 
Therefore, she, too, cares for them, every one. 

And when she stoops to lift from want and sin, 

The brighter shines her royalty therein. 

She walks erect through dangers manifold, 
While many sink and fail on either hand ; 

She dreads not Summer's heat nor Winter's cold, 
For both are subject to the King's command ; 

She need not be afraid of anything, 

Because she is the daughter of a King. 

E'en when the angel comes that men call Death, 
And name with terror, it appalls not her ; 

She turns to welcome him with quickened breath, 
Thinking it is the Royal Messenger ; 

Her heart rejoices that her Father calls 

Her back to dwell within His palace walls. 

For though the land she dwells in is most fair, 
Set round with streams, a picture in its frame, 

Yet often in her heart deep longings are 
For that Imperial Palace whence she came. 

Not perfect quite seems any earthly thing, 

Because she is the daughter of a King. 



34° Sunsbtne in %ite 



Hnnie 2>ouglas IRobtnson. 

(Marian Douglas.) 
1842. 

TWO PICTURES. 

An old farm-house with meadows wide 
And sweet with clover on each side ; 
A bright-eyed boy, who looks from out 
The door with woodbine wreathed about, 
And wishes his one thought all day : 
" Oh, if I could but fly away 
From this dull spot, the world to see, 
How happy, happy, happy, 
How happy I should be ! " 

Amid the city's constant din, 
A man who round the world has been, 
Who, mid the tumult and the throng, 
Is thinking, thinking, all day long : 
" Oh, could I only tread once more 
The field-path to the farm-house door, 
The old green meadow could I see, 
How happy, happy, happy, 
How happy I should be ! " 



poems for Zhc Iking's Daughters 341 

1842. 

THE STATUE. 

In Athens, when all learning centred there, 
Men reared a column of surpassing height 

In honor of Minerva, wise and fair, 

And on the top, that dwindled to the sight, 

A statue of the goddess was to stand, 

That wisdom might obtain in all the land. 

And he who, with the beauty in his heart, 
Seeking in faultless work immortal youth, 

Would mould this statue with the finest art, 
Making the wintry marble glow with truth, 

Should gain the prize. Two sculptors sought the 
fame ; 

The prize they craved was an enduring name. 

Alcamenes soon carved his little best ; 

But Phidias, beneath a dazzling thought 
That like a bright sun in the cloudless west 

Iyit up his wide, great soul, with pure love 
wrought 
A statue, and its face of changeless stone 
With calm, far-sighted wisdom towered and shone. 

Then to be judged, the labors were unveiled ; 
But at the marble thought, that by degrees 



342 Sunsbine in Xifc 

Of hardship Phidias cut, the people railed. 

"The lines are coarse; the form too large," 
said these ; 
" And he who sends this rough result of haste 
Sends scorn, and offers insult to our taste." 

Alcamenes' praised work was lifted high 
Upon the capital where it might stand ; 

But there it seemed too small, and 'gainst the sky 
Had no proportion from the uplooking land ; 

So it was lowered, and quickly put aside, 

And the scorned thought was mounted to be tried. 

Surprise swept o'er the faces of the crowd, 

And changed them as a sudden breeze may 
change 

A field of fickle grass, and long and loud 

Their mingled shouts to see a sight so strange. 

The statue stood completed in its place, 

Each coarse line melted to a line of grace. 

So bold, great actions, that are seen too near, 
I,ook rash and foolish to unthinking eyes ; 

They need the past for distance to appear 
In their true grandeur. Let us yet be wise 

And not too soon our neighbor's deed malign, 

For what seems coarse is often good and fine. 



Poems for Gbe Ikfng's Baugbters 343 

Samuel TKHillougbb^ HHimelfc. 

1 843- 1 887. 

IN GOOD TIME. 

No flower wiil come to splendor, 
No sunny light grow tender, 
No life its harvest render, 
Till God's good time. 

No holy morn shall brighten, 

No foes shall cease to frighten, 

No heavy heart shall lighten, 

Till God's good time. 

I have my song and sing it, 
I have my sheaf and bring it, 
My life has hope to wing it, 
Till God's good time. 



TUnfcnowru 

THROUGH DEATH TO LIFE. 

JOHN xii., 24. 

Have you heard the tale of the Aloe plant, 

Away in the sunny clime ? 
By humble growth of a hundred years 

It reaches its blooming time ; 



344 Sunsbinc in %itc 

And then a wondrous bud at its crown 

Breaks into a thousand flowers : 
This floral queen, in its blooming seen, 

Is the pride of the tropical bowers. 
But the plant to the flower is a sacrifice, 
For it blooms but once, and in blooming it dies. 



Have you further heard of this Aloe plant, 

That grows in the sunny clime ; 
How every one of its thousand flowers, 

As they drop in the blooming time, 
Is an infant plant that fastens its roots 

In the place where it falls on the ground ; 
And as fast as they drop from the dying stem, 

Grow lively and lovely around ? 
By dying it liveth a thousand-fold 
In the young that spring from the death of the 
old. 

Have you heard the tale of the Pelican, 

The Arab's Gimel el Bahr ; 
That lives in the African solitudes, 

Where the birds that live lonely are ? 
Have you heard how it loves its tender young, 

And cares and toils for their good ? 
It brings them water from mountains afar, 

And fishes the seas for their food. 
In famine it feeds them — what love can devise ! — 
The blood of its bosom, and feeding them, dies. 



poems for XLbe IRfng'6 Baugbters 345 

Have you heard the tale they tell of the Swan, 

The snow-white bird of the lake ? 
It noiselessly floats on the silvery wave, 

It silently sits in the brake ; 
For it saves its song till the end of life, 

And then, in the soft, still even, 
'Mid the golden light of the setting sun, 

It sings as it soars into Heaven ! 
And the blessed notes fall back from the skies ; 
'T is its only song, for in singing, it dies. 

You have heard these tales ; shall I tell you one, 

A greater and better than all ? 
Have you heard of Him whom the heavens adore, 

Before whom the hosts of them fall ? 
How He left the choirs and anthems above, 

For earth in its wailings and woes ; 
To suffer the shame and pain of the Cross, 

And die for the life of His foes ? 
O Prince of the noble ! O Sufferer Divine ! 
What sorrow and sacrifice equal to Thine ? 

Have you heard this tale — the best of them all — 

The tale of the holy and true ? 
He dies, but His life, in untold souls, 

Lives on in the world anew ; 
His seed prevails, and is filling the earth, 

As the stars fill the sky above ; 
He taught us to yield up the love of life 

For the sake of the life of love ; 



346 Sunsbme In Xife 

His death is our life, His loss is our gain ; 
The joy for the tear, the peace for the pain. 

Now hear these tales, ye weary and worn, 

Who for others give up your all ; 
Our Saviour hath told you, he that would grow 

Unto earth's dark bosom must fall ; 
Must pass from the view and die away, 

And then will the fruit appear. 
The grain that seems lost in the earth below, 

Will return many fold in the ear. 
By death comes life, by loss comes gain ; 
The joy for the tear, the peace for the pain. 



$ohn Boyle ©'IRetlls. 

i 844- i 890. 

UNSPOKEN WORDS. 

The kindly words that rise within the heart, 

And thrill it with their sympathetic tone, 
But die ere spoken, fail to play their part, 

And claim a merit that is not their own. 
The kindly word unspoken is a sin, — 

A sin that wraps itself in purest guise, 
And tells the heart that, doubting, looks within, 

That not in speech, but thought, the virtue 
lies. 



poems for XLhc Iktng's Baugbters 347 

But 't is not so ; another heart may thirst 

For that kind word, as Hagar in the wild — 
Poor banished Hagar ! — prayed a well might 
burst 

From out the sand to save her parching child. 
And loving eyes that cannot see the mind 

Will watch the expected movement of the lip ; 
Ah ! can ye let its cutting silence wind 

Around that heart, and scathe it like a whip ? 

Unspoken words, like treasures in the mine, 

Are valueless until we give them birth : 
Like unfound gold their hidden beauties shine, 

Which God has made to bless and gild the 
earth. 
How sad 't would be to see a master's hand 

Strike glorious notes upon a voiceless lute ! 
But oh ! what pain when, at God's own command, 

A heart-string thrills with kindness, but is 
mute ! 

Then hide it not, the music of the soul, 

Dear sympathy, expressed with kindly voice, 
But let it like a shining river roll 

To deserts dry, — to hearts that would rejoice. 
Oh ! let the symphony of kindly words 

Sound for the poor, the friendless, and the 
weak ; 
And He will bless you, — He who struck these 
chords 

Will strike another when in turn you seek. 



34« Sunsbfne In "Lite 

Ifoarriett /ICmlforfc Xotbrop. 

(Margaret Sidney.) 
1844. 

THE LITTLE BROWN SEED. 

"I'mof no use, ' ' said a little brown seed ; 

" Where shall I go and hide ? 
I 'm little and brown, with nobody's love, 

And ugly beside. ' ' 

So she rolled, and she rolled very quickly away, 
And tumbled on the ground ; 

The rain came in torrents, and fell upon her 
And all things around. 

And she felt herself sinking in darkness beneath, 

Poor little faithless seed ! 
Where never an eye could see her sad fate, 

Oh, she was hidden indeed ! 

The little brown seed lay still in the earth, 

To herself still sighing, 
Till at last with an effort she roused up, and cried, 

"I '11 begin by trying. 

"I '11 try and stop fretting, for 't is of no use, 

And if I 've nobody's love, 
I '11 look up in hope, for there is One who will 
see, 

The dear God above." 



lpoems for Zhc Ikfng's 2>augbters 349 

Oh, would you believe it ! straightway the dark 
ground 

Began to tremble and shake, 
And make way for the little seed, hopeful now, 

Her upward way to take ! 

Up, up she went, till at last she saw 
The lovely, bright blue sky ; 

Oh, the beautiful spirit had found release, 
And the summer time was nigh ! 

The brightness and beauty that grew upon her, 

I cannot begin to speak ; 
Crowned with flowers she stood, beloved by all, 

So lovely, — yet so meek. 



Sarab Cbaunce^ XKHoolses. 

(Susan Coolidge.) 

ABOUT 1845. 

WHEN. 

If I were told that I must die to-morrow, 

That the next sun 
Which sinks would bear me past all fear and 
sorrow 

For any one, 
All the fight fought, all the short journey through, 

What should I do ? 



35° Sunsbine in Xife 

I do not think that I should shrink or falter, 

But just go on, 
Doing my work, nor change nor seek to alter 

Aught that is gone ; 
But rise and move and love and smile and pray 

For one more day. 
And, lying down at night for a last sleeping, 

Say in that ear 
Which harkens ever: " L,ord, within Thy keep- 
ing 

How should I fear? 
And when to-morrow brings Thee nearer still, 

Do Thou Thy will." 

I might not sleep for awe ; but peaceful, tender, 

My soul would lie 
All the night long ; and when the morning 
splendor 

Flushed o'er the sky, 
I think that I could smile — could calmly say, 

"It is His day." 

But if a wondrous hand from the blue yonder 

Held out a scroll 
On which my life was writ, and I with wonder 

Beheld unroll 
To a long century's end its mystic clew, 

What should I do ? 

What could I do, O blessed Guide and Master, 
Other than this : 



poems for Tlbe IRfng's Daughters 351 

Still to go on as now, not slower, faster, 

Nor fear to miss 
The road, although so very long it be, 

While led by Thee ? 

Step after step, feeling Thee close beside me, 

Although unseen, 
Thro' thorns, thro' flowers, whether the tempest 
hide Thee 

Or heavens serene, 
Assured Thy faithfulness cannot betray, 

Thy love decay. 

I may not know ; my God, no hand revealeth 

Thy counsels wise ; 
Along the path a deepening shadow stealeth, 

No voice replies 
To all my questioning thought, the time to tell ; 

And it is well. 

I^et me keep on, abiding and unfearing 

Thy will always, 
Through a long century's ripening fruition 

Or a short day's ; 
Thou canst not come too soon ; and I can wait 

If Thou come late. 



352 Sunsbine in Xife 

lanftnown. 

CHRIST WILL GATHER HIS OWN. 

Christ will gather His own 
To the place where He is gone, 
Where their heart and treasure lie, 
Where our life is hid on high. 

Day by day the voice saith ' ' Come, 
Enter this eternal home. ' ' 
Asking not if we can spare 
This dear soul its summons there. 

Had He ask' d us, well we know 
We should cry, ' ' Oh, spare this blow ! ' ' 
Yes, with streaming tears should pray, 
" Lord, we love him ; let him stay." 

But the Lord doth naught amiss, 
And, since He hath ordered this, 
We have naught to do but still 
Rest in silence on His will. 

Many a heart no longer here, 
Ah ! was all too inly dear ; 
Yet, O Love, 't is Thou dost call, 
Thou will be our All in All. 



poems for TLbe lfcing'5 2>augbters 353 

Emma Xa3arus. 

1849— 1887. 

REMEMBER. 

" Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth ; 
while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, 
when thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them." 

Ecci,. xii., 1. 

Remember Him, the only One, 

Now, ere the years flow by, — 
Now, while the smile is on thy lip, 

The light within thine eye. 
Now, ere for thee the sun have lost 

Its glory and its light, 
And earth rejoice thee not with flowers, 

Nor with its stars the night. 
Now, while thou lovest earth, because 

She is so wondrous fair 
With daisies and with primroses, 

And sunlit, waving air ; 
And not because her bosom holds 

Thy dearest and thy best, 
And some day will thyself infold 

In calm and peaceful rest. 
Now, while thou lovest violets, 

Because 'mid grass they wave, 
And not because they bloom upon 

Some early shapen grave. 

Now, while thou lovest trembling stars, 

But just because they shine, 
23 



354 Sunsbine in Xife 



And not because they 're nearer one 

Who never can be thine. 
Now, while thou lovest music's strains, 

Because they cheer thy heart, 
And not because from aching eyes 

They make the tear-drops start. 
Now, while thou lovest all on earth, 

And deemest all will last, 
Before thy hope has vanished quite, 

And every joy has past ; 
Remember Him, the only One, 

Before the days draw nigh 
When thou shalt have no joy in them, 

And praying, yearn to die. 



Sarab ©me Jewett. 

1849. 

DISCONTENT. 

Down in a field, one day in June, 
The flowers all bloomed together, 

Save one, who tried to hide herself, 
And drooped, that pleasant weather. 

A robin who had soared too high, 

And felt a little lazy, 
Was resting near a buttercup 

Who wished she were a daisy. 



Ipoems for Gbe Ikfng's Daughters 355 

For daisies grow so trig and tall ; 

She always had a passion 
For wearing frills about her neck 

In just the daisies' fashion. 

And buttercups must always be 

The same old tiresome color, 
While daisies dress in gold and white, 

Although their gold is duller. 

" Dear robin," said this sad young flower, 
" Perhaps you 'd not mind trying 

To find a nice white frill for me, 
Some day when you are flying ? ' ' 

' ' You silly thing ! ' ' the robin said ; 

' ' I think you must be crazy ! 
/ y d rather be my honest self 

Than any made-up daisy. 

" You 're nicer in your own bright gown, 

The little children love you ; 
Be the best buttercup you can, 

And think no flower above you. 

' ' Though swallows leave me out of sight, 

We 'd better keep our places ; 
Perhaps the world would all go wrong 

With one too many daisies. 



356 Sunsbfne in Xife 

' ' Look bravely up into the sky, 
And be content with knowing 

That God wished for a buttercup, 
Just here where you are growing." 



Cbarles ffrancts 1Ricbarfc>som 

1851. 

LOVE. 

If suddenly upon the street 
My gracious Saviour I should meet, 
And He should say, "As I love thee, 
What love hast thou to offer me ? ' ' 
Then what could this poor heart of mine 
Dare offer to that heart divine ? 

His eye would pierce my outward show, 
His thought my inmost thought would know ; 
And if I said, " I love Thee, Lord," 
He would not heed my spoken word, 
Because my daily life would tell 
If verily I loved Him well. 

If on the day or in the place 
Wherein He met me face to face, 
My life could show some kindness done, 
Some purpose formed, some work begun, 
For His dear sake, then it were meet 
Love's gift to lay at Jesus' feet. 



poems for XLbc Ifting's Daughters 357 

GOD THE FOUNTAIN OF LOVE TO HIS 
CHILDREN. 

I love my God, but with no love of mine, 

For I have none to give ; 
I love Thee, Lord ; but all the love is Thine, 

For by Thy life I live. 
I am as nothing, and rejoice to be 
Emptied, and lost, and swallowed up in Thee. 

Thou, Lord, alone, art all Thy children need, 

And there is none beside ; 
From Thee the streams of blessedness proceed ; 

In Thee the bless' d abide. 
Fountain of life, and all-abounding grace, 
Our source, our centre, and our dwelling-place ! 

Translator unknown. 



Xftnfenown. 

TWO ANGELS. 

Two angels came and spoke to me ; 

The face of one was full of beauty. 
The other wore a sadder look ; 

And these their names were : Joy and Duty. 

I said to Joy : " I '11 follow thee 
Wherever thou shalt go to lead me ; 



358 Sunsblne in %itc 

I '11 serve thee with a willing hand 

Wherever thou may'st chance to need me." 

But Joy said : ' ' Nay, it cannot be, 
Because we twain are sister graces, 

And Duty is the elder one ; 

Nor do we dare to change our places. 

' ' But follow on where Duty calls, 
And I will evermore attend thee ; 

And while thou servest at her will, 
My presence I will surely lend thee. ' ' 



1b, 1R. 1b. £. 

TO V. H. F. 

A woman of lovely visage, 

Sweet eyes of a heavenly blue, 

Bright, beautiful eyes revealing 
A soul, large, loving, and true. 

And a mouth of wondrous sweetness, 
Of exquisite shape and mould, 

Hair softly waving and curling, 
Fair hair, with a touch of gold. 

An expression of radiant gladness, 
Bright intellect, womanly power, 

A sympathy confidence winning 
In joy or in sorrow's sad hour. 



lfroems for XZbe IRing's 2>augbtet5 359 

Figure and carriage so queenly, 

Rare grace of manner withal, 
And a glorious gift of singing 

Holds captive within its thrall. 

A spirit so blithe and merry, 
So joyous and bright and gay, 

Iyike the gleam of a glancing sunbeam, 
Cheers everything on its way. 

But not to what earth calls pleasure, 
These treasures of God are given, 

But increased tenfold are offered 
Again to the God of Heaven. 

And thoroughly has she tested 
The tempting pleasures of earth, 

And found them as dross compared with 
The gold of the heavenly birth. 

Of character pure and noble, 

Such freedom from wilful sin, 
That tells of her trust in the Saviour, 

And speaks of the God within. 

And her life draws nearer to Jesus 
As heavenly blessings descend, 

More faithful her ministry loving 
To family, husband, and friend — 

Unselfish, forbearing, forgiving, 
Surrendered to God alone, 



360 Sunsbtne in Xife 

Her peace flows deep and unruffled, 
Her watchword ' ' Thy will be done. ' ' 

And among the high or lowly, 

In God-given strength from above, 

Winning others to follow her Saviour, 
Her work and labor of love. 

Most richly has God rewarded 
Her constant and truest aim, 

And souls have departed breathing 
Warm benisons on her name. 

And Jesus who gives the increase 
To prayerful and true endeavor 

Will surely fulfil His promise — 
" Shall shine as the stars forever." 

And I know one day the tidings, 
The day when life's race is run, 

With rapture will thrill her whole being 
The words of her Saviour, "Well done." 

GOOD-BYE. 

To-morrow, dear Sister, to-morrow we part, 
Good-bye must be spoken, but deep in my heart 
Rest the Heaven-breathing words thou hast said 

unto me, 
And wherever I wander by land or by sea, 
Know thou ever my soul whispers ' ' Mizpah ' ' to 

thee. 



poems for Zbc IRing'6 JDaugbtcrs 361 

PEACE. 

Peace I leave with you, My peace I give unto you." 

John xiv., 27. 

My soul was filled with a sadness 

So deep yet undefined, 
It fell as a darkening shadow 

Where'er my thoughts inclined. 

I sought in a whirl of pleasure 
A glimmering ray of light, 

But the shadow deep and deeper 
Fell drear as darkest night. 

I sought in the haste of travel 
The lowering cloud to flee, 

But found in the wide world over 
No place of rest for me. 



I wended my sad way homeward 

Again o'er land and sea, 
Till quiet amid the darkness 

A fair thought came to me. 

Not e'en to words that were spoken 
That bright hope can I trace, 

So silently came the message 
Thro' only a human face. 



362 Sunsbfne in %itc 

A face full of restful sweetness, 
So peaceful, calm, and bright, 

It spoke of a joy so hopeful — 
Some unexpressed delight, — 

That my soul was filled with longing 

This secret glad to hear, 
The thought sent a thrill of pleasure 

Unknown for many a year. 

I asked her eagerly earnest 

To tell her wondrous art ; 
Said simply, ' ' A Heaven-sent treasure, 

God's peace within my heart." 

And this was the truth I 'd sought for 
Those long sad years agone ; 

Then prayed with all faith within me 
This light for me might dawn. 

Till my trust was all in Jesus, 

On Him my every care, 
And my heart's deep joy told surely 

The "peace of God " was there. 

And the lowering clouds have vanished. 

The shadows fled away ; 
With Him I have left the future, 

To me He gives to-day. 



fl>oems tot Gbe Ifttng's Baugbters 363 

God in His infinite mercy 

Has bid the storm to cease, 
And soft to my troubled spirit 

He gently whispers " Peace." 



Iberbert TKHolcott Bowen. 

1856. 

THE QUESTION AND THE ANSWER. 

' ' Wherefore fallest thou, 

little drop of rain ? 
Heaven is so fair, 

Why not there remain ? ' ' 

' ' Thou wouldst never know 

Heaven is so fair, 
Did not blessings fall 

On the earth from there. 

UNHEARD. 

The bird 
That sings its song, 

Unheard, 
All summer long, 
I' the solitude 
Of some deep wood, 
Sings not the less 
For happiness. 



364 Sunsbine in %itc 

THE WORKS OF MAN AND OF NATURE. 

The works of man are always incomplete 

However much he has of sacred fire, 

And always leave us something to desire. 

His own ill-judgment, faults, and failings cheat 

His care, and in his every work repeat 

Themselves : so all in vain doth he aspire 

To keep for brush or chisel, pen or lyre, 

His inspiration heavenly pure and sweet. 

But in the works of Nature we behold 

Design and execution truly one : 

The sky, the clouds, the mountains, grove and 

wold, 
The snow-flakes, dew-drops, beams of moon and 

sun, 
The rose, the lily, and anemone, 
Are all what she intended them to be. 



RED ROSES. 

Red roses need not tell us 
That they are really red, 

Nor even that the perfume 
Is fragrant that they shed. 

But, when it comes to mortals, 
We scarcely ever know 

If they are honest Christians, 
Unless they tell us so. 



poems for Gbe Ifcing's Bausbtets 365 
Sarab (Beraltona Stocft. 

NEW-YEAR VOICES. 

What wilt thou do with the year 

That is dawning so fresh and clear — 

Dawning in whiteness, 

Dawning in brightness — 

What wilt thou do with the year ? 

The world cries : ' ' Give it to me ! 
I will deck it with flowers for thee, 
I will fill it with mirth and glee ; 
And if that will not suffice, 
I will give thee a higher price, 
I will crown it with golden days 
Of wealth, and honor, and praise, 
And fill it with incense sweet, 
Ascending round thy feet ! ' ' 
And the end ? ' ' Oh ! far away 
Is that strange and misty day." 

What wilt thou do with the year 

That is dawning so fresh and clear — 

Dawning in whiteness, 

Dawning in brightness — 

What wilt thou do with the year ? 

The world says : ' ' Give it to me ! 

I demand it all of thee ; 

Think not from my claim to flee, 



366 Sunsbfne In %ite 

For none can elude my grasp, 
/ Or loosen my steady clasp ; 
Thou must go with me all the way, 
And my every word obey. ' ' 
And the end ? " Oh ! that is naught ! 
Thou need' st not give it a thought." 

What wilt thou do with the year ? 
A voice comes soft and clear, 
Comes in thy sadness, 
Comes in thy gladness — 
What wilt thou do with the year ? 

The Lord speaks : ' ' Give it to Me ! 
With My life I ransomed thee, 
And I come to set thee free. 
My service is constant peace, 
And blessing with sure increase, 
Joy -springs that never run dry, 
And work that will satisfy ! ' ' 
And the end ? "A glorious day 
And a crown of life for aye ! ' ' 



/Ifoarianne ffarmingbam. 

FROM " CONSECRATION HYMN." 

" Just as I am," Thine own to be, 
Friend of the young, who lovest me ; 
To consecrate myself to Thee, 
O Jesus Christ, I come. 



Ipoems for trbe Iftfng's 2>augbtet6 367 

In the glad morning of my day, 
My life to give, my vows to pay, 
With no reserve and no delay, 
With all my heart, I come. 



I would live ever in the light, 

I would work ever for the right, 

I would serve Thee with all my might, 

Therefore to Thee I come. 



' ' Just as I am, ' ' young, strong, and free, 
To be the best that I can be 
For truth and righteousness and Thee, 
Lord of my life, I come. 



3-. g. Eicbenfcort 

O SILENCE DEEP AND STRANGE! 

O silence deep and strange ! 

The earth doth yet in quiet slumber lie, 
No stir of life, save on yon woodland range, 

The tall trees bow as if their Lord passed by. 

Like to one new-create 

I have no memory of grief and care ; 

Of all the things which vexed my soul of late, 

I am ashamed in this calm morning air. 
24 



368 Sunsbinc in %ife 

This world, with all its band 

Of clamorous joys and griefs, shall be to me 
A bridge whereon, my pilgrim-staff in hand, 

I cross the stream of Time, O Lord, to Thee. 



/IDarE <&♦ JSrafnarD* 

GOD KNOWETH. 

I know not what shall befall me, 
God hangs a mist o'er my eyes, 

And so, each step in my onward path, 
He makes new scenes to rise, 

And every joy He sends me 
Comes as a sweet surprise. 

I see not a step before me, 
As I tread on another year ; 

But the past is still in God's keeping, 
The future His mercy will clear ; 

And what looks dark in the distance 
May brighten as I draw near. 

For perhaps the dreariest future 
Has less bitter than I think ; 

The Lord may sweeten the waters 
Before I stoop to drink ; 

Or, if Marah must be Marah, 
He will stand beside the brink. 



Ipoems tor Zhc Iktng's 2>augbters 369 

It may be He has waiting 

For the coming of my feet 
Some gift of such rare blessedness, 

Some joy so strangely sweet, 
That my lips shall only tremble 

With the thoughts I cannot speak. 

O blissful, restful ignorance ! 

'T is blessed not to know, 
If it keeps me so still in those arms 

That will not let me go, 
And hushes my soul to rest 

In the bosom that loves me so. 



So I go on, not knowing ; 

I would not if I might ; 
I would rather walk in the dark with God, 

Than go alone in the light ; 
I would rather walk with Him by faith 

Than walk alone by sight. 

My heart shrinks back from trials 
Which the future may disclose ; 

Yet I never have a sorrow 

But what the dear I^ord chose ; 

So I send the coming tear back, 
With the whispered word, He knows ! 



37o Sunsbine in Xife 

WL S» passmore, 

"NOT A SPARROW FALLETH." 

Not a sparrow falleth, but its God doth know 
Just as when His mandate lays a monarch low, 
Not a leaflet waveth but its God doth see ; 
Think not, then, O trembler, God forgetteth thee ! 

Far more precious surely than the birds that fly, 

Is a Father's image to a Father's eye, 

E'en thine hairs are numbered : trust Him full 

and free, 
Cast thy care before Him and He '11 care for 

thee. 

For the God that planted in thy breast a soul, 
On His sacred tables doth thy name enroll ; 
Cheer thine heart, then, trembler, never faithless 

be; 
He that marks the sparrow will remember thee ! 



Caroline Xeslte. 

AT LAST. 

I stood beside my window one stormy winter 
day, 
And watched the light white snow-flakes flutter 
past; 



poems for XLbc ftfng's Baugbters 371 

And I saw, though each one wandered its silent, 
separate way, 
They all sank down upon the ground at last. 
' ' So men must lie down too, ' ' I said, 
" When life is past." 

From out the self-same window, when soft spring 
days were come, 
I watched the fair white clouds that sailed the 
blue ; 
Could those bright pearly wonders far up in 
heaven's high dome 
Be the old wintry snow-banks that I knew ? 
" So men shall one day rise again," 
I whispered, • ' too. ' ' 



Ikarl 5obann pfoilipp Spitta, 

THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE. 

"Ye have need of patience." 

Heb. x., 36. 

A gentle angel walketh throughout a world of 

woe, 
With messages of mercy to mourning hearts 

below ; 
His peaceful smile invites them to love and to 

confide, 
Oh, follow in his footsteps, keep closely by his 

side ! 



372 Sunsbine in %itc 

So gently will he lead thee through all the cloudy- 
day, 

And whisper of glad tidings to cheer the pilgrim- 
way ; 

His courage never failing, when thine is almost 
gone, 

He takes thy heavy burden, and helps to bear it 
on. 

To soft and tearful sadness he changes dumb 

despair, 
And soothes to deep submission the storm of 

grief and care ; 
When midnight shades are brooding, he pours 

the light of noon 
And every grievous wound he heals most surely, 

if not soon. 

He will not blame thy sorrows, while he brings 

the healing balm ; 
He does not chide thy longings, while he soothes 

them into calm ; 
And when thy heart is murmuring, and wildly 

asking why ? 
He smiling beckons forward, points upward to 

the sky. 

He will not always answer thy questions and thy 

fear, 
His watchword is, " Be patient, thy journey's end 

is near ! ' ' 



fl>oems for Zbc "King's 2>augbters 373 

And ever through the toilsome way he tells of 

joys to come, 
And points the pilgrim to his rest, the wanderer 

to his home. 

Translator unknown. 



Bnonpmous» 

"SHE SAITH UNTO HIM, MASTER." 

They are always together, the Master and she ; 
He loved her, and chose her His own bride to be. 
Her service was loyal and loving and free — 

You will find them together the Master and she ; 
Should you meet her, the first words to greet you 

would be 
" I 've a dear precious Master, come with me and 

see!" 

Yes, they 're always together the Master and she ; 
Xong ago she had heard Him say " Come unto 

Me," 
Long ago she had answered ' ' I come, Lord, with 

Thee." 

Forever united the Master and she — 

When you look in her glorified face you will see 

How dear to the Bridegroom .she always must be ! 



374 Sunebine in 5Life 

The sweetest of visions He gives her to see, 
(She will show them to you, she has shown them 

to me,) 
For you see they 're together, — the Master and 

she ! 



XHnfenown. 

MY VESPER SONG. 

Filled with weariness and pain, 
Scarcely strong enough to pray, 

In this twilight hour I sit, — 
Sit and sing my doubt away. 

O'er my broken purposes, 
Kre the coming shadows roll, 

Let me build a bridge of song : 
"Jesus, lover of my soul, 

' ' Let me to Thy bosom fly. ' ' 

How the words my thoughts repeat ! 
To Thy bosom, Lord, I come, 

Though unfit to kiss Thy feet. 

Once I gathered sheaves for Thee, 
Dreaming I could hold them fast ; 

Now I can but idly sing, 

" Oh, receive my soul at last ! " 



Ipoems for TIbe Ifting's XDaugbtere 375 

I am weary of my fears, 

I^ike a child when night conies on ; 
In the shadow, L,ord, I sing, 

" L,eave, ah, leave me not alone ! " 

Through the tears I still must shed, 

Through the evil yet to be, 
Though I falter while I sing, 

' ' Still support and comfort me. ' ' 

' ' All my trust on Thee is stayed, ' ' 

Does the rhythm of the song, 
Softly falling on my heart, 

Make its pulses firm and strong ; 

Or is this Thy perfect peace 
Now descending while I sing, 

That my soul may sleep to-night 

" 'Neath the shadow of Thy wing " ? 

' ' Thou of life the fountain art. ' ' 

If I slumber on Thy breast, 
If I sing myself to sleep, — 

Sleep and death alike are rest. 

Through the shadows overpast, 
Through the shadows yet to be, 

Let the ladder of my song 
" Rise to all eternity." 



376 Sunsbfnc in Xffe 

Note by note its silver bars 
May my soul in love ascend, 

Till I reach the highest round 
In Thy kingdom without end. 

Not impatiently I sing, 

Though I stretch my hands and cry 
"Jesus, lover of my soul, 

Iyet me to Thy bosom fly ! " 



FOR JESUS' SAKE. 

Three little words, but full of sweetest meaning, 
Three little words the heart can scarcely hold, 

Three little words, but on their import dwelling, 
What tenderness of love do they unfold ! 

"For My sake" cheer the suffering, help the 
needy : 

On earth this was My work ; I give it thee ; 
If thou wouldst follow in thy Master's footsteps, 

Take thou and bear My cross and learn of Me. 

' ' For My sake ' ' let the harsh word die un- 
uttered, 

That trembles on the swift, impetuous tongue ; 
' ' For My sake ' ' check the quick rebellious feeling 

"Which rises when thy brother does thee wrong. 



poems for Zlbe IRtng's Baugbters 377 

' ' For My sake ' ' press thou with all patience on- 
ward, 
Although the race be hard, the battle long ; 
Within thy Father's house are many mansions, 
There thine own voice shall join the victor's 
song. 

And if in coming days the world revile thee, 
If " for My sake " thou suffer pain and loss, 

Bear on, faint heart, thy Master went before thee, 
They only wear His crown who share His cross. 



Jennie Blejan&er. 

"A DAUGHTER OF THE KING." 

"A Daughter of The King," am I, 

Why need I then bewail, 
Though all the world should pass me by, 

Though many a friend should fail ? 
No matter where my path may be, 

Nor what each day may bring, 
I 11 hold myself right royally, 

" A Daughter of The King." 

My Father ! King of Kings is He, 

And He is Lord of all ; 
'T is He upholds the universe, 

Or marks each sparrow's fall. 



378 Sunsbine in Xife 

Nothing too great for Him to do, 
Nor small to Him one thing ; 

And I — what evil shall I fear — 
A Daughter of This King ? 

The Prince, my Elder Brother is ; 

When tempted, or dismayed 
At all the foes that throng around 

And make my soul afraid ; 
Close to His loving side I press, 

And to His hand I cling, 
For He, my Elder Brother is, 

Our Father is The King. 

'T is but a little longer yet, 
I hope, that I may roam, 

Sore longing for my Father's house, 
Sore longing for my home ; 

Till I hear the joyous summons, 
While the bells of heaven ring, 

To welcome home from exile 

" A Daughter of The King." 

Methinks when safely home at last, 

All eager though I be, 
The golden streets and jasper walls 

And pearly gates to see — 
To hear the golden harps of God, 

To list the seraphs sing 
The praises of the Crucified, 

The glories of The King. 



Ipoems for Zbc IKtng's Daughters 379 

I '11 pass all by ; nor sighs nor sound 

Shall bid my footsteps stay ; 
Right to my Father's loving arms 

My soul shall find its way. 
Safe home at last ! safe home at last ! 

Ah ! sure, death hath no sting ! 
Safe home, all sin and sorrows past, 

In the palace of The King. 



TUnfenown. 

THE PATRIARCH SAT ALONE. 

The patriarch sat alone. Before him lay 
The coat of many colors, stained with blood, 
Which he forsooth believed was of his boy — 
The one on whom he placed his highest hopes, 
On whom he hoped to lean in ripe old age. 
His fancy told him, as he sat and wept, 
His fondly-cherished hopes were at an end. 
So other men have wept : their radiant hopes 
Are changed to clouds of darkness and despair ; 
The robe so many-colored, stained and torn. 
The patriarch's evening came. He saw God's 

hand 
Had placed the bitter cup for him to drink, 
That he might look beyond earth's transient 

hopes, 
And put his trust in God. 3>t others trust ; 



380 Sunsbine in Xife 

And when their earthly hopes shall fail, look up 
With faith in God, and in all patience — wait, 
Till for their mourning He shall give them joy ; 
And for the spirit sad, the robe of praise, 
Not many-colored, but of spotless white. 



I KNOW NOT THE WAY I AM GOING. 

I know not the way I am going, 

But well do I know my Guide ; 
With a childlike trust I give my hand 

To the mighty Friend by my side. 
The only thing that I say to Him, 

As He takes it, is — " Hold it fast ! 
Suffer me not to lose my way, 

And bring me home at last. ' ' 

As when some helpless wanderer, 

Alone in an unknown land, 
Tells the guide his destined place of rest, 

And leaves all else in his hand ; 
'T is home, 't is home that we wish to reach, 

He who guides us may choose the way ; 
Iyittle we heed what path we take, 

If we 're nearer home each day. 



poems for XLbc Iking Daugbtecs 381 

FRAGMENT. 

I hear Hope singing, sweetly singing, 

Softly in an under- tone, 

And singing as if God had taught her, 

" It is better farther on." 
Still farther on ! Oh, how much farther ? 
Count the milestones one by one. 
No ! no counting, only trusting 
" It is better farther on ! " 



the; end. 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



A r , PAGE 

Abbey, Henry 

The Statue ........ 341 

Adams, Sarah F. 

Father, Thy Will be bone 106 

Addison, Joseph 

An Ode 3 

* Aldrich, Thomas B. 

Before the Rain . . . . . . .314 

After the Rain 315 

Alexander, Cecil F. 

The Burial of Moses 160 

Alexander, Jennie 

" A Daughter of The King " .... 377 
Alford, Henry 

Safe to the Land . ^ . . . 119 

Anonymous 

" She Saith unto Him, Master " . . .373 

Arnold, Sir Edwin 

April 163 

Arnold, Matthew 

Self-Dependence 142 

Barbauld, Anna L. 

The Sabbath of the Soul . • . . . .38 

Life 38 

The Death of the Virtuous 39 

Baring-Gould, S. 

The Olive-Tree 164 

Child's Evening Hymn ..... 166 

* The poems by the authors whose names are starred are reprinted 
by the courtesy of Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin, & Co. 

333 



384 UnSez of Butbors 

PAGE 

Barton, Bernard 

There be Those 66 

Baxter, Richard 

Resignation . . . . ..' . .16 

Beattie, Wii^iam 

From " Evening Hymn of the Alpine Shep- 
herds " 89 

Benjamin, E. Bedew, 

Something New for Easter ! . . . .281 
Benjamin, Park 

From " Press On " 216 

Bl,AKE, WlI^IAM 

The Little Black Boy 41 

Bonar, HORATIUS 

The Master's Touch 111 

He Liveth Long Who Liveth Well . . . 112 

The New Song 113 

Be True . . . . . . . .114 

Botta, Anne C. I,. 

Thoughts in a Library . . . - . .251 
Love 252 

Bottome, Frank 

The Old Book and the New . . . .276 

The Banner of The King 278 

Thee First and Last . . . . . 280 

Bowen, Herbert w. 

The Question and the Answer .... 363 

Unheard 363 

The Works of Man and of Nature . . . 364 

Red Roses 364 

Bowring, Sir John 

Hymn . . . . . . . . .84 

Brainard, John G. C. 

The Fall of Niagara 178 

Epithalamium 179 



flnoej of Butbors 385 



PAGE 

Brainard, Mary G. 

God Knoweth . 368 

Branch, Mary B. 

The Petrified Fern 332 

Brooks, Philips 

O Little Town of Bethlehem . . . .306 

Brown, William G. 

A Hundred Years to Come .... 231 

Browning,. Elizabeth B. 

Work and Contemplation ..... 120 
Cheerfulness Taught by Reason . . .121 
From " My Doves " 121 

Browning, Robert 

Fragment — Song 122 

Bryant, William C. 

A Forest Hymn 180 

The Yellow Violet 184 

To a Waterfowl . 186 

March - . . . . 187 

The Constellations . . . . .188 

* Burleigh, William H. 

The Song of the Mowers 229 

Summer Woods 230 

Byron, Lord 

The Lake of Geneva 74 

Carlyle, Thomas 

To-Day 94 

*Cary, Alice 

From " God Is Love " 257 

Nobility 257 

*Cary, PhcEbe 

Over-Payment ....... 259 

Little Gottlieb 261 

Channing, William F. 

Sleepy Hollow 237 



386 ITnDej of Butbors 

PAGE 

Charles, Elizabeth R. 

The Cruse That Faileth Not . . . .158 

* Clarke, James F. 

Translation ........ 221 

Clough, Arthur H. 

Where Lies the Land ? 137 

Cobb, Henry N. 

" Father, Take My Hand " .. . . .301 

The Gracious Answer ...... 302 

Coleridge, Hartley 

The Word of God . . . . . .96 

Prayer 96 

Coleridge, Samuel T. 

From "Hymn before Sunrise in the Vale of 

Chamouni" 57 

Answer to a Child's Question .... 59 
Colesworthy, Daniel C. 

A Little Word in Kindness Spoken . . . 220 

Cooke, Rose T. 

" It Is More Blessed" 290 

Cowper, William 

Light Shining Out of Darkness .... 34 

Winter . . -35 

Translation . . . . . . . . 36 

Coxe, Bishop 

The Chimes of England 176 

De Vere, Aubrey T. 

The Dark Angel 125 

Dickinson, Mary L. 

If We Had but a Day 334 

Doddridge, Philip 

Ye Golden Lamps of Heaven, Farewell ! . .22 
' ' Dum Vivimus Vivamus " .... 22 



1Tn5ej of Butbors 387 

PAGE 

Dodge, Mary M. 

My Window-Ivy 322 

There 's a Wedding in the Orchard . . , 323 

Doudney, Sarah 

The Lesson of the Water-Mill .... 173 
Drummond, Wieeiam 

To a Nightingale 5 

DSCHEEADEDDIN 

The Answer 221 

DuFFlEED, SamtjEE W. 

In Good Time 343 

ElCHENDORF, J. F. 

O Silence Deep and Strange ! . . . . 367 

Eeeiott, Chareotte 

From " Sunday Evening " 75 

Eeewood, Thomas 

Prayer ......... 17 

* Emerson, Raeph W. 

The Soul's Prophecy 198 

The Rhodora 199 

Faber, Frederic W. 

Come to Jesus . . . . . . 125 

The Will of God 128 

Invitation to the Mission ..... 130 

Perfection ........ 132 

The Starry Skies 133 

Farmingham, Marianne 

From " Consecration Hymn " .... 366 

Finch, Francis M. 

The Blue and the Gray 293 

Findeaxer, Sarah B. 

Translation . . . . . . - 104 

GaeE, Eeiza G. 

Night 223 



IfnOej of Butbors 



PAGE 

Gannett, William C. 

Listening for God ...... 331 

Gladden, Washington 

The Pastor's Reverie 308 

Goldsmith, Oliver 

From " The Deserted Village " . . . 31 

Gray, Thomas 

Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard . . 26 

Guyon, Madame 

The Soul That Loves God Finds Him Every- 
where 36 

A Little Bird I Am ...... 192 

God the Fountain of Love to His Children . 357 

Havergal, Frances R. 

Life Mosaic . . , 167 

Jesus Only . . 168 

Ascension Song 168 

Whose I Am 170 

Consecration Hymn . . . . . .170 

Another Year 172 

Hemans, Felicia D. 

Kindred Hearts 90 

The Hour of Prayer 91 

Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers ... 92 

Heywood, Thomas 

Search after God ...... 18 

Higginson, Thomas W. 

Vestis Angelica 267 

Holland, Josiah G. 

Gradatim . . . . • . . . .248 

The Hymn .250 

* Holmes, Oliver W. 

Hymn of Trust 217 



•ffnDej of Butbors 



PAGE 

Hood, Thomas 

Ruth 97 

The Lady's Dream ...... 98 

* HOWELLS, WILLIAM D. 

Thanksgiving 322 

HowiTT, Mary 

The Use of Flowers ...... 102 

* Hudson, Mary C. A. 

Peace ......... 329 

Hume, Alexander 

A Summer's Day 11 

Hunt, Leigh 

An Angel in the House ..... 67 

Abou Ben Adhem and the Angel ... 67 
Jackson, "Helen H. 

The Way to Sing 297 

A Last Prayer 298 

*Jewett, Sarah O. 

Discontent . . . . . . . . 354 

Jones, Sir William 

The Babe 41 

Keats, John 

Nature's Delights 95 

Keble, John 

Evening ........ 82 

Fragment 84 

Key, Francis S. 

Life . . 191 

Kimball, Harriet McE. 

All 's Well 304 

Kingsley, Charles 

A Farewell 138 

Knox, William 

O, Why should the Spirit of Mortal Be Proud ? 76 



39° fln&ej of Butbors 

PAGE 

LAIGHTON, ALBERT 

Under the Leaves 295 

* Larcom, Lucy 

Hand-in-Hand with Angels .... 285 
A Thanksgiving 287 

* Lazarus, Emma 

Remember ........ 353 

LEGGETT, WlEEIAM 

Love and Friendship 193 

Leighton, Robert 

Duty 14 

LESEIE, CAROEINE 

At Last 370 

Logan, John 

To the Cuckoo 40 

* Longfeeeow, Henry W. 

Santa Filomena ....... 203 

Memories . . 205 

From " The New England Tragedies " . . 206 

From " The Golden Legend " .... 207 

* Longfeeeow, Samuee 

Looking unto God 247 

LoThrop, Harriett M. 

The Little Brown Seed 348 

* Loweee, James R. 

Yussouf ........ 240 

From " The Vision of Sir Launfal " . . . 242 

From "My Love" 246 

Loweee, Maria W. 

The Alpine Sheep 255 

Lunt, George 

Pilgrim Song 200 

Lyte, Henry F. 

Long did I Toil 85 

Abide with Me 87 



•ffnfcex of Butbors 



391 





PAGE 


Mackay, Charges 




Little at First, but Great at Last 


122 


I Lay in Sorrow, Deep Distressed 


. 124 


Mason, Caroline A. 




"Waking 


• 265 


Miller, Thomas 




Evening Song 


no 


Milton, John 




On His Blindness 


12 


Hail, Holy Light ! 


• 13 


Montgomery, James 




" Forever with the Lord ! " 


• 52 


The Stranger and His Friend 


• 54 


Songs of Praise the Angels Sang 


• 54 


Moon, G. Washington 




Who shall Roll Away the Stone? 


• 138 


Moore, Clara J. 




The Web of Life . ..... 


. 272 


Moore, Thomas 




Thou Art, God ! 


• 59 


Thou Who Dry'st the Mourner's Tear ! 


. 60 


Alas ! How Light a Cause may Move 


. 61 


Newell, William 




Serve God and be Cheerful 


. 201 


Newman, John H. 




The Pillar of the Cloud .... 


• 103 


O'Reilly, John B. 




Unspoken Words 


• 346 


Otis, Newton S. 




Childhood's Prayer . . . 


• 313 


Palerey, Sarah H. 




The Light-House 


. 296 


Pardoe, Julia 




The Beacon-Light 


. 114 


Parker, Theodore 




The Way, the Truth, and the Life . 


• 225 



392 ITnDej ot Butbors 



PAGE 

Passmore, W. S. 

" Not a Sparrow Falleth " 370 

PERKINS, J. H. 

The Upright Soul 218 

PHELPS, EGBERT 

Sunbeams 327 

Pope, Alexander 

The Universal Prayer . . . . . . 1 

Powers, Horatio N. 

Abide with Us : For It Is toward Evening . 282 

The New Year 284 

Prentice, George D. 

Sabbath Evening 194 

A Name in the Sand 196 

* Preston, Margaret J. 

Ready . 305 

Procter, Adelaide A. 

A Legend of Bregenz 143 

Now 150 

The Old Year's Blessing 151 

Spring 153 

Evening Hymn 156 

Per Pacern ad Iyucem ...... 157 

Procter, Bryan W. 

The Pearl-Wearer 72 

* Proctor, Edna D. 

Take Heart 326 

Quarees, Francis 

From " Delight in God Only " .... 9 
Richardson, Charles F. 

Love 356 

Robinson, Annie D. 

Two Pictures 340 

*Sangster, Margaret E. 

Our Own ........ 325 



flnoej of Hutbors 393 



PAGE 

* Saxe, John G. 

The Two Angels . „ . . • . . . 235 

Scott, Sir Walter 

Rebecca's Hymn . . . . .48 

From " The Lady of the Lake " . . .49 

SCUDDER, ELIZA 

The Love of God ..'.... 252 

Sewaee, Harriet W. 

Why Thus Longing ? 238 

SIMMS, Wieeiam G. . 

The First Day of Spring 202 

Smith, Horace 

Hymn to the Flowers ...... 63 

Smith, May R. 

In Prison 335 

His Name shall Be in Their Foreheads . . 338 
Southey, Caroline A. B. 

The Mariner's Hymn . . . ... .71 

Spitta, Kare J. P. 

O Happy House ! 104 

The Angel of Patience 371 

* Stedman, Edmund C. 

The Singer ........ 300 

From " The Ordeal by Fire " .... 300 

Sternhoed, Thomas 

Majesty of God 5 

S., H. R. H. 

To V. H. F. . . . . . . . 358 

Good-bye 360 

Peace 361 

Stock, Sarah G. 

New- Year Voices ...... 365 

Stoddard, Richard H. 

The Stork and the Ruby 273 

The Dead . ■ . . . . . . .276 



394 IFnoej of Butbors 

PAGE 

Stowe, Harriet B. 

The Other World . . ... . .226 

When I Awake I Am Still with Thee . . 228 

Tennyson, Alfred 

From " In Memoriam " 116 

The Foolish Virgins 118 

*ThaxTER, Ceua 

The Sandpiper 319 

A Song of Easter 320 

Trench, Richard C. 

The Kingdom of God 107 

Different Minds 108 

The Effects of Prayer 109 

Couplets 109 

* Trowbridge, John T. 

At Sea . . .291 

Unknown. 

Between the Lights 255 

Christ will Gather His Own . . . . 352 

For Jesus' Sake 376 

Fragment 381 

Hast Thou Within a Care So Deep ? . . .269 

Hearts That Hunger 234 

I Know Not the Way I am Going . . . 380 

My Vesper Song 374 

Origin of the Opal 220 

Poems Unwritten 248 

The Patriarch Sat Alone 379 

The Sacrifice of the Will . . . . .239 

The Thrush 299 

They 're Dear Fish to Me 79 

Through Death to Life 343 

Two Angels 357 

Unseen 3°7 



ITnoej of Butbors 395 

PAGE 

Upham, Thomas C. 

Translation 192 

Utter, Rebecca S. P. 

The King's Daughter . . . . ' . . 339 
Vaughan, Henry 

The Rainbow 15 

VENABLE, W. H. 

The Teacher's Dream 315 

Very, Jones 

Nature 232 

Wakefield, Nancy A. W. P. 

Heaven 311 

Waring, Anna L. 

My Times Are in Thy Hand .... 140 
Webster, Augusta 

The Gift 175 

Wesley, Charles 

My Consecration 23 

For the Youngest 23 

White, Henry K. 

The Star of Bethlehem . . . .68 

To an Early Primrose 69 

Whitman, Sarah H. 

A Still Day in Autumn . . . . . 197 

* Whitney, Adeline D. T. 

Equinoctial 269 

Up in the Wild 270 

*Whittier, Elizabeth H. 

Charity 233 

The Meeting Waters 233 

* Whittier, John G. 

The Eternal Goodness 208 

Nauhaught, the Deacon 211 

From " Sunset on the Bearcamp " . . . 215 



396 UnSes of Butbors 



PAGE 
WILLIAMS, HELEN M. 

Whilst Thee I Seek ...... 43 

Wilson, John 

The Evening Cloud 70 

Wither, George 

For One That Hears Himself Much Praised . 6 

. Lemuel's Song 7 

Woolsey, Sarah C. 

When ,-'.'. . . 349 

Wordsworth, William 

The Daffodils 44 

We are Seven ....... 45 

To the River Duddon ..;... 47 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 



PAGE 

A baby sat on his mother's knee .... 327 

Abide with me ; fast falls the even-tide ... 87 

Abou Ben Adhem 67 

A certain prince, I have forgot his name . . 273 

A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun ... 70 

Across the German Ocean ..... 261 

Across the narrow beach we flit .... 319 

" A Daughter of the King " am I .... 377 

A dew-drop came, with a spark of flame . . . 220 

A Flower unblown ; a Book unread . 284 

A gentle angel walketh throughout a world . . 371 

Ah, there are mighty things under the sun . . 257 

Alas ! how light a cause may move .... 61 

A little bird I am 192 

A little pause in life — while daylight lingers . . 253 
A little word in kindness spoken . . . .220 

" Allah, Allah ! " cried the sick man . . . 221 

All before us lies the way 198 

All day the stormy wind has blown .... 326 

Alone I walked the ocean strand .... 196 

And as the flowing of the ocean fills . . . 206 

And now to issue from the glen .... 49 

An old farm-house with meadows wide . . . 340 
Another year is dawning . . . . . .172 

A poor wayfaring man of grief 54 

A simple child 45 

As now I lay me down to sleep . . . . 313 

397 



398 



•ffnoej of fftrst Xincs 



A stranger came one night to Yussouf's tent 

A traveller through a dusty road 

At the spring of an arch .... 

A woman of lovely visage 

Be not afraid to pray, — to pray is right . 

Beyond these chilling winds 

Beyond the hills where suns go down 

Blossom of the almond trees 

Brothers, the day declines 

By Nebo's lonely mountain 

By the flow of the inland river . 

Child, amidst the flowers at play 

Christ will gather His own 

Clear, placid L,eman ! thy contrasted lake 

Close beside the meeting waters 

Count each affliction, whether light or grave 

Darkness was deepening o'er the seas 

Day-stars ! that ope your frownless eyes to twinkle 

Down in a field, one day in June 

Do you ask what the birds say ? 

Father, I know that all my life 

Father, I scarcely dare to pray 

Father of all ! in every age 

Father, Thy paternal care 

Filled with weariness and pain 

Forever with the Dord ! 

For summer's bloom and autumn's blight 

For the wealth of pathless forests 

Gentle Jesus, meek and mild . 

Girt round with rugged mountains . 

Give ! as the morning that flows out of heaven 

God might have bade the earth bring forth 

God moves in a mysterious way 

God pity the wretched prisoners 



PAGE 

240 
122 
307 
358 
96 
311 
113 
163 



flnoej of jfirst Xines 



399 



PAGE 

Go forth in life, O friend ! 252 

Golden harps are sounding 168 

Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove ! . . .40 
Hail, holy Light, offspring of Heaven's first-born ! 13 

Hand-in-hand with angels 285 

Hark ! the hours are softly calling .... 153 
Hast thou within a care so deep .... 269 
Have you heard the tale of the Aloe plant . . 343 
Heaven is not reached at a single bound . . . 248 
He closed the book and made it fast . . . 276 

He liveth long who liveth well ! . . . .112 
Her Father sent her in His land to dwell . . 339 

He sendeth sun, He sendeth shower . . . 106 

How beautiful the night 223 

How calmly sinks the parting sun ! ... 194 

How many days with mute adieu . . . .110 

How sweet it were, if without feeble fright . . 67 
I am fading from you . . . . . .151 

I do not ask, O Lord, that life may be 157 

If I had known in the morning .... 325 

If I were told that I must die to-morrow . . . 349 

If life's pleasures cheer thee 191 

If suddenly upon the street 356 

I have done at length with dreaming . . . 265 
I hear Hope singing, sweetly singing . . .381 
I hear it often in the dark . . . . . 331 

I know not if the dark or bright . . . . 119 
I know not the way I am going .... 380 
I know not what shall befall me .... 368 
I lay in sorrow, deep distress' d . . . .124 

I look to Thee in every need ..... 247 
I love my God, but with no love of mine . . 357 

I love to wander through the woodlands hoary . 197 
"I 'm of no use," said a little brown seed . . 348 



4oo ITnoej of ffirst Xlnes 



In Athens, when all learning centred there 

In a valley, centuries ago ..... 

In holy books we read how God hath spoken 

In May, when sea-winds pierced 

In the still air the music lies unheard 

I reach a duty, yet I do it not ... 

I saw two clouds at morning .... 

I say to thee, do thou repeat ... 

I sought Thee round about, O Thou my God ! 

Is thy cruse of comfort wasting ? . . 

I stood beside my window .... 

It lies around us like a cloud .... 

I think about the dead by day ... 

I think we are too ready with complaint . 

I thought of thee, my partner and my guide , 

I took a little good seed in my hand 

I wandered lonely as a cloud 

I worship thee, sweet will of God ! 

I would be ready, Lord 

Jesus, Master, whose I am 

"Jesus only ! " In the shadow . 

"Just as I am," Thine own to be 

Laid on Thine altar, O my Lord divine . 

Late, late, so late ! and dark the night and chill 

Late to our town there came a maid 

Launch thy bark, mariner ! 

Lead, Kindly Light ! amid the encircling gloom 

Life ! I know not what thou art 

Listen to the water-mill . . . . . 

" Live while you live ! " the epicure would say 

Long did I toil, and knew no earthly rest 

Lord, for the erring thought .... 

Lord, it belongs not to my care 

Lord, what a change within us one short hour 



•ffnoej of fftrst Xines 401 



PAGE 

Master, to do great work for Thee . . . .167 

Mild offspring of a dark and sullen sire ! 69 
Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts ! . - . -57 

My fairest child, I have no song to give you . . 138 
My life, which was so straight and plain . . .272 

My mother bore me in the southern wild . . 41 

My sins and follies, Lord, by Thee .... 6 

My soul was filled with a sadness .... 361 

Naked on parent's knees, a new-born child . . 41 
Nauhaught, the Indian deacon . . . .211 

Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled . 31 

No abbey's gloom, nor dark cathedral stoops . . 237 

No flower will come to splendor .... 343 

Not a sparrow falleth, but its God doth know . . 370 

Now the day is over 166 

O, ask not, hope thou not, too much ... 90 

O come to the merciful Saviour who calls you . 130 

O Constellations of the early night .... 1S8 

O'er waves that murmur ever nigh .... 296 

O Friends ! with whom my feet have trod . . 208 

Oft have I walked these woodland paths . . . 295 

Oft I remember those whom I have known . . 205 

O gather, gather ! Stand 267 

O happy glow ! O sun-bathed tree ! . . . . 175 

O happy house ! where Thou art loved the best . 104 

Oh how the thought of God attracts . . . 132 
Oh winter ! ruler of the inverted year . . -35 

O lark ! sweet lark ! . 300 

O little town of Bethlehem 306 

O Love Divine, that stooped to share . . . 217 

O Maker of sweet poets ! 95 

O silence deep and strange 367 

O Thou bright and beautiful day .... 202 

O Thou, by long experience tried .... 36 



402 



ITnOej of ffirst %incs 



O Thou, great Friend to all the sons of men 

O Thou who dry'st the mourner's tear ! . 

Our little systems have their day 

Over my window the ivy climbs 

Over the mountain wave .... 

O where will be the birds that sing . 

O, why should the spirit of mortal be proud ? 

Peace, troubled heart ! 

Press on ! there 's no such word as fail . 

Red roses need not tell us 

Remember Him, the only One . 

Rise ! for the day is passing 

Said an ancient hermit, bending 

" Serve God and be cheerful " . 

She doeth little kindnesses 

She stood breast high amid the corn 

Sing, children, sing ! .... 

Sleep, sleep to-day, tormenting cares 

Slowly, slowly up the wall 

So here hath been dawning 

Some hearts go hungering through the world 

Some murmur when their sky is clear 

Something new for Baster ! Something new to ■ 

Songs of praise the angels sang 

Songster of the russet coat 

Souls of men, why will ye scatter 

Speak low ! tread softly through these halls 

Still, still with Thee . . * . 

Still young and fine, but what is still in view 

Sweet bird ! that sing'st away the early hours 

Sweet is the scene when virtue dies ! 

Take my life, and let it be 

Take my soul and body's powers 

That which weeping ones were saying 



flndej of tfirst Xines 



403 



The bird 

The birds must know .... 

The birds when winter shades the sky 

The breaking waves dashed high 

The bubbling brook doth leap . 

The ceaseless hum of men 

The chimes, the chimes of Motherland . 

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day 

The day is ended. Ere I sink to sleep . 

Thee first and last, my God, my King 

The farmer's wife sat at the door 

The groves were God's first temples 

The kindly words that rise within the heart 

The lady lay in her bed .... 

The L,ord descended from above 

The night was made for cooling shade 

The pastor sits in his easy-chair 

The patriarch sat alone .... 

The pilgrim and stranger, who through the day 

The rain has ceased .... 

There are in this loud stunning tide 

There are poems unwritten 

There be those who sow beside 

There 's a wedding in the orchard, dear 

The Sabbath day has reached its close 

The shadows of the evening hours 

The spacious firmament on high 

The starry skies, they rest my soul 

The stormy March is come at last 

The sun of life has crossed the line 

The tender light is fading 

The thoughts are strange that crowd 

The time so tranquil is and clear 

The way is dark, my child ! 



PAGE 

363 
297 

193 
92 
232 
230 
176 
26 

304 

280 

79 
180 

346 

98 
5 
291 
308 
379 
233 
315 

84 
248 

66 
323 

75 
156 
3 
133 
187 
269 
282 
178 

11 
302 



404 



1fnoe$ of 2ftrst Htnes 



The way is dark, my Father ! . 

The weary teacher sat alone 

The woman singeth at her spinning-wheel 

The works of man are always incomplete 

They are always together, the Master and she 

The year 's at the spring .... 

Thou art, O God ! the life and light 

Thou Grace Divine, encircling all . 

Thou must be true thyself . . . ' 

Thou, who dost feel Life's vessel strand . 

Three little words, but full of sweetest meanin 

Throw your banner " In His Name " 

Time rolls his ceaseless course . 

'T is gone, that bright and orbed blaze . 

'T is heaven alone that is given away 

To Heaven's high city I direct my journey 

To-morrow, dear sister, to-morrow we part 

Touched by a light that hath no name 

True worth is in being, not seeming 

'T was hard to sing by Babel's stream 

Two angels came and spoke to me . 

Two wandering angels, Sleep and Death . 

Unto the glory of Thy Holy Name . 

Up in the wild, where no one comes to look 

We are up and away 

Weary of myself, and sick of asking 

We knew it would rain 

We should fill the hours with the sweetest things 

What wilt thou do with the year 

When beechen buds begin to swell . 

Whene'er a noble deed is wrought . 

When I consider how my light is spent . 

When I shall go where my Redeemer is . 

When Israel, of the Lord beloved 



"ffnOej of dfirst Xines 405 



When marshall'd on the nightly plain 

When on my ear your loss was knelled ' . 

When thou hast thanked thy God for every blessing 

sent . . . . 
Wherefore fallest thou ..... 
Where lies the land to which the ship would go ? 
Whilst Thee I seek, protecting Power 
Whither, 'midst falling dew .... 
Who finds a woman good and wise . 
Why thus longing, thus forever sighing . 
Within the midnight of her hair 
Ye golden lamps of heaven, farewell 



255 

109 
363 
137 
43 
186 

7 

238 

72 

22 



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Thomas James. Illustrated $1 25 

Ancient Spanish Ballads. Historic and Romantic. Translated, with 
notes, by J. G. Lockhart. Illustrated . . . . $1 50 
The Wit and Wisdom of Sydney Smith. A Selection of the most 
memorable passages in his Writings and Conversations . . $1 00 
The Ideals of the Republic; or, Great Words from Great Ameri- 
cans. Comprising: "The Declaration of Independence, 1776," 
" The Constitution of the United States, 1779," etc., etc. . $1 00 
Selections from Thomas De Quincey. Comprising: "Murder Con- 
sidered as one of the Fine Arts," " Three Memorable Murders," 

" The Spanish Nun " $1 00 

Tales by Heinrich Zschokke. Translated by Parke Godwin and 

William P. Prentice $1 00 

American War Ballads. Edited by George Cary Eggleston. With 
original illustrations. 2 vols. . . . . . . $2 50 

Songs of Fairy Land. Compiled by Edward T. Mason, with illus- 
trations from designs by Maud Humphrey . . . . $1 25 

The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin. Edited, with notes, by 

John Bigelow $1 00 

The Garden, as considered in literature by certain polite writers. With a 
Critical Essay by Walter Howe, with portrait of Wm. Kent, $1 00 

Sesame and Lilies. By John Ruskin $1 00 

The Boyhood and Youth of Goethe. Comprising the first eleven books 
of his Autobiography. 2 vols. . . . . . . $2 00 

The Sayings of Poor Richard. Being the Prefaces, Proverbs, and 
Poems of Benjamin Franklin, originally printed in Poor Richard's 
Almanacs for 1733-1758. Collected and edited by Paul Leicester 
Ford $1 00 



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